


Can You Fill The Silence

by toasterpapa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Case Fic, HP: EWE, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:38:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toasterpapa/pseuds/toasterpapa
Summary: "He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words."*~*~*~*~*He wasn't mute. He could speak perfectly fine, thank you very much, he just decided to only speak when absolutely necessary. Why waste his breath if it wasn't worth it? If these people didn't want to listen to his words, he wouldn't give any to them. It was just better that way. It was easier. It was peaceful.





	Can You Fill The Silence

**Author's Note:**

> The day has finally come! The rewrite is here! Over 20k words of new content, a more cohesive plot, and a whole lotta good stuff. Ready yourselves cuz here we go...
> 
> (Content Warnings: talk of abusive relationships, fight scenes, blood and injury, so just be warned that comes in near the end.)

"He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words."

He wasn't mute. He could speak perfectly fine, thank you very much; he just decided to only speak when absolutely necessary. Why waste his breath if it wasn't worth it? If  people didn't want to listen to his words, he wouldn't give any to them. It was just better that way. It was easier. It was peaceful. 

After the war, no one wanted to hear what Draco had to say. He tried, for a short while, but after he said his piece at the trials, he was done. He was through with trying to explain himself, to explain his actions. He didn't owe anyone anything. They didn't have a right to know his motivations, so Draco wouldn't tell them, and just let them think their worst, because it was futile to think that they wouldn't do the same no matter how he tried to appease them. This was not in ignorance or defence of his actions which he knew full well were wrong; this was desperation at trying to leave the past in the past and continue on with his life. 

Draco had to return to Hogwarts to complete his seventh year as part of his probation, which annoyed him as he already knew all he needed to know, but was a fairly generous sentence considering he was not a minor. He took it without complaint. When he had arrived at the school, he wasn't sure what people were expecting from him. They had probably expected more of his stream of insults and subtle jabs at everyone around him, but Draco had grown past those childish remarks, and was just too tired. No one had expected him to fall into a stony silence. For the first few months, Draco sat at the back of classes vaguely taking notes and talking to no one, and people thought it was some sort of joke. They expected him to break at some point, but he did not. Eventually Draco passed by unknown and unseen, and that was completely fine by him. The quiet was comforting. 

He graduated top of the class, finally tied with Hermione, and knew that going back to the Malfoy estate was not an option. He would go crazy in that mansion; he already thought back to that year during the war enough when he was far away, he couldn't imagine trying to live there again. So, he decided to get a job. In an unnerving show of his old confidence, he applied to be an Auror. He didn't think much of it, as he would most likely be rejected immediately when they saw the name on the application, but much to his shock, he received a letter not long after telling him he'd been accepted into Auror training. He considered not going through with it, as certainly everyone there would despise him, but he had no better options, so he went. He was no stranger to public resentment, having been now both the resenter and the resented.

Needless to say, on the first day of training, all the new recruits from his Hogwarts year were quite shocked to see Draco Malfoy slide in almost unnoticed. They whispered and pointed, and some tried to talk to him, or more accurately at him, but he just ignored them and focused on practicing. He rose to the top of the class yet again, and was especially skilled at defence charms by the end of it. Some people who were borderline kind to Draco without actually befriending him asked for advice on blocking unexpected hexes and jinxes when they saw how effortlessly he dodged all the ones thrown at him when his back was turned. To their surprise, Draco did help them, and he helped them well. Draco never did do anything half-heartedly. After what felt like a very long time, and a ton more even difficult and now practical schooling, Draco was officially an Auror. 

The rookies were paired up with experienced Aurors for their first six months, and with no surprise to Draco, he was paired with an old, very snide Auror who probably should have been encouraged to retire years ago. This man, whose name Draco had never bothered to remember, enjoyed bringing up Draco's past criminal record at every possible opportunity, and never did any actual work. In his first three months in the Auror office, Draco got very good at filing paperwork. Draco always was the best at what he did, whether he wanted to be or not. Lucky for him, but not for the old wizard, the Auror he'd been paired with had a mild heart attack and did retire after three months of lightly tormenting Draco with insults and endless filing. Draco was relieved, but worried at who they would pair him with next. His superiors gave him the worst cases, who could guess why?

Finally it was Draco who was shocked when he was given an office number on that next fateful Monday morning, and entered to find none other than Harry Potter sitting regally at a very cluttered desk. 

"Malfoy?" He asked, standing up and flattening his crimson robes. 

Draco nodded in greeting, and passed Potter the note that said he was his new supervisor/mentor/whatever it was that the other old Auror man had certainly not been. 

"Okay then," said Potter, glancing over the parchment, "Have a seat."

Draco took the seat on the other side of Potter's desk, and felt oddly like he was about to be interrogated. He quickly scanned over the resistance techniques they'd been taught, and flexed his ever present mental barrier. His mother had been the best occlumens in England, so Draco was as well.  _ Always the best, _ was what Narcissa loved to say. 

Potter sat back down in his considerably more comfortable chair, and addressed Draco again, more formally than his previous confusedly surprised greeting. "I heard that you passed training, though there was really no doubt about that, but I haven't seen you around the office." Draco shrugged, so Potter looked back down at the letter he had given him again. "Aah, I see you were with McNeil. That makes sense. Did he just have you doing paperwork all day?" 

Draco nodded. He was not good at small talk, and refused to engage in it.

"Well, I don't have much to do today, I just finished up a case and am waiting for another, but I was just about to go trolling for one if you want to join," Potter suggested.

Draco nodded and stood up as an acceptance of Potter's offer, and basically just trailed a few steps behind Potter as he walked through the Auror floor, charming everyone in sight until he was handed a file. Potter thanked the witch who had given it to him with a dazzling smile, then turned back to Draco and handed him the file after flipping through it. 

"What do you think?" He asked once Draco had finished scanning the contents of the admittedly thin folder. Draco nodded in approval, though confused as to why Potter thought he needed approval from Draco, and made the sort of expression that one makes when seeing something mediocre yet not altogether displeasing. "Alright then," said Potter, with far too much enthusiasm, which is to say having more than none like the case deserved, "Let's go."

Draco was then essentially Potter's shadow for the day as they went around to various locations in London interviewing people about an incident involving an illegal Clabbert which the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had passed off to the Aurors once the creature had been taken care of. Usually with repeat offenders in the illegal magical creature trade, they sent in Aurors to make sure nothing too suspicious was going on. Sure enough, nothing nefarious was happening, but at least Draco had managed to get out of the office. Potter smiled at everyone he interviewed, and even at Draco a few times, which Draco didn't fully understand. After the 'case' had been closed, Potter proposed the idea of getting takeaway, as he had to wait late for his report on his last case to be reviewed. This was the thing Draco was the most enthusiastic about all week. 

They picked up their food at a small and somewhat dingy Muggle restaurant, and the owners recognized Potter, which lead Draco to believe Potter worked many late nights. He had commitment, Draco had to give him that. Everyone had the suspicion that Potter had risen through the ranks of the Aurors quickly because of the enormous reputation he carried, but he really did work for it. Draco hoped that he would stay paired with Potter for the next three months, as he seemed to be very civil towards Draco, which was quite a relief. He had thought that surely of all people, Harry Potter would be the one to hold a personal grudge against him. He truly was the wizarding world's golden boy. 

The food was surprisingly wonderful even though the restaurant from the outside had looked rather terrible, and they ate in relative silence for a while, which Draco didn't mind, until Potter started telling him a story of a case he'd had a few months previously that involved a Chinese restaurant being the front for illegal potion trading. Potter told stories well - well enough to elicit a smile from Draco - but did have a habit of brandishing his chopsticks slightly too much when he was speaking. It was endearing, Draco supposed. 

"So come on, I've been chatty all day, you must have something to say, being paired with me of all people," said Potter finally. 

Draco shrugged. 

"Come on," said Potter, "You must have something to say. You always have something to say."

Draco shook his head. 

"Fine," he said, possibly sounding almost offended, Draco wasn't quite sure, "I can speak enough for the both of us I guess."

Draco wasn't going to say anything to this at all, but he supposed he should give the poor man something, and then he might drop the subject.

"Thank you," was all Draco managed. 

Harry seemed surprised by this utterance for a moment, as he had not heard Draco's voice for probably two years or maybe more, and it was nothing like the sneering voice he remembered from school. It sounded closer to the voice he had heard at the trials, and he wasn't sure if that made him sad or proud. He nodded once to Draco, letting him know that he wouldn't push him to speak if he did not want to. Draco was immensely grateful for this small gesture, as he was so tired of all the pestering. He hadn't taken a vow of silence or anything, he did speak, he just didn't want to sometimes. Why was that so hard for people to comprehend?

After that fateful night of Chinese takeaway eaten at Potter's very cluttered desk, they fell into a strange sort of dynamic. They would do work in comfortable silence, or Potter would talk, and Draco would listen and very occasionally comment. Potter was easy to be around, and after a while Draco didn't mind the chopstick waving or the slightly rambling stories Potter would tell to pass the time when they were on a stakeout or just staying in the office far too late. Those nights were Draco's favourite, when they would eat too much food and laugh about the office gossip Potter somehow always had. 

"How do you know so much?" Draco asked on one of these nights, after a particularly juicy story about one of the secretaries and a senior Auror. 

"I talk to people," Potter answered, "I smile, I remember the names of their pets and their birthdays, and they tell me their secrets."

Draco nodded in approval of Potter's cunning tactic. 

"I don't know anything about you, however," said Potter, getting the devilish glow in his eye that always accompanied a new quest for gossip. And people thought Draco was a drama queen. 

"No." 

"I don't know your birthday, and you don't seem the type to have pets, so I suppose my smiles will just have to do the work," said Potter, smiling. 

Draco did appreciate those smiles, but he was determined that they would not work on him. There was no interesting gossip to learn about him anyway. 

"I guess I'll just have to ask you questions then, use my Auror skills to interpret your reactions," said Potter, smiling ever wider. 

Draco glared pointedly at the smiling man across the table from him, with a completely unreadable expression. 

"Soooo," said Potter, mocking a cliche teenage girl voice, "Dating anyone?"

Draco shook his head, as this was a question he was willing to answer. 

Potter hummed, leaning back in his chair and appraising Draco, "Dated anyone recently then? Messy breakup perhaps? Or did the romance just fade?"

Draco shook his head again.

"Really? Draco Malfoy, not seeing anyone," said Potter, not fully believing it. 

Draco decided this would be more fun if he were to play along, so he said in a flat tone, "Haven't had a relationship recently."

Potter smiled again, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk now, fully hooked by Draco's one small piece of information. "Not a fan of monogamy? Or just not found the right person? Prefer to dabble? I respect that. Good choice."

Potter had a tendency to say a lot of things at once, so Draco couldn't really nod or shake his head to anything, so he just sat there and looked at Potter, expression still impassable. 

Draco leaned his head to the side and raised his eyebrows at Potter, gesturing for him to share about himself. 

"You want to know about my relationship status? Well I suppose you did give me the tiniest tidbit of information so it's only fair that I reciprocate. I am not dating anyone."

Draco raised one eyebrow in confusion. 

"That is correct," Potter continued, "I am not dating anyone, if you are confused because of my high school romance that everyone thought was going to end in a lovely marriage, kids, and white picket fence, that ended rather civilly after the war."

Draco nodded knowingly. 

"Yeah, things just weren't the same after," said Potter, looking at a point over Draco's left shoulder.

They fell into a silence, both of them knowing that the other was thinking back to their times in the war, and how they could never get back to who they were before. In Draco's case, he was somewhat glad in a small way, as he'd stopped being such a git, but he suspected that the war took even more from Potter, and given him nothing in return. They'd both seen things that no one should have to see, and it had robbed them of their childhoods, of the carefree exploration years you should be able to have in your teens. They were two sides of the same coin; the two boys on opposite sides, trapped by their last names and their so-called destinies. 

Over the next month, Potter had made it his mission to find out details of Draco's life, as apparently he was so intrigued by it. Unfortunately, they had both been through the rigorous Auror training of how to resist interrogation, so he had had no luck so far. One of the strategies he had tried was to tell Draco details of his own life in the hope that Draco would feel obligated to share his own. Draco saw right through this however, but he did get to learn about Potter's love life, which was very fun to hold over him; the fact that he knew so much while the other knew so little. Potter had said that he dated guys and girls, which was a surprise to Draco, as he seemed like the epitome of a straight guy who would play sports and then have a wife and 2.5 kids and live in the suburbs. This was not the case, and Draco heard some wild stories about the times he was almost recognized at a gay bar before he got out of there really fast and started going to only obscure Muggle clubs instead. 

Draco took note of one of the names of these clubs to knock off his own list so he would not run into Potter there. That he could not explain away with a solemn silence. 

There was one month left in Draco's trial period, and Draco was a bit disappointed, because he and Potter were becoming a very good team. They had one of the best closure rates for cases in the entire department, though at this point a lot of that was good luck and timing. Potter had a knack of finding cases out of nothing, and more than once they'd managed to catch something big. The pair were very intimidating with their reputations to back them. Potter would just walk in guns blazing as the Muggles would say, and Draco would go with him, silent and mysterious and altogether terrifying with his quick and silent spellwork. There was the added bonus of it being Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, the iconic enemies, working together to fuck shit up that made criminals really panic. Often, Draco would recognize someone who'd had business with his father in the past, and was able to provide insight. This coupled with Potter's uncanny ability to know everything about a person just by one look made them the ones to beat. 

"Potter," said Draco, knocking on the office door.

The man in question opened the door, and Draco wordlessly passed him a file: their latest case. "You can call me Harry, you know," Potter said. Draco shrugged and walked past him sitting in the now more comfortable chair that had become his, and put his feet up on the desk while Potter got caught up on the case. 

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looked up from the file to see Draco's feet on his desk. "Seriously? Feet on my desk?"

Draco swept his hand through the air above the desk in a dramatic gesture, bringing Potter's attention to the clutter covering the entire surface. 

"Good point," said Potter, Harry, whichever Draco was supposed to use to refer to his somewhat partner. 

Draco took his feet off the desk all the same, and whipped out his wand to perform a quick charm to organize the desk. It looked marginally better once Draco had finished with it, but it was a bit of a lost cause. 

"Hey!" Harry protested, "How am I going to find anything now?"

Draco shook his head and looked at the floor exasperatedly, and waved his wand once again to put Harry's desk back in disorder, despite how much it pained him to do so. 

"Aah, that's much better," said Harry, pulling the file from the clutter, "Let's go do some generic crime stopping, shall we?"

Draco smiled and shook his head at Harry again, and they left the office together. 

*~*~*~*~*

Of all people, it was Draco Malfoy who showed up at Harry's office door. Harry was shocked when it had happened, but he was rather pleased. He'd heard about Malfoy's skill in Auror training, and was intrigued. He was even more intrigued when the bully he remembered from school had turned out to be somewhat nice, and hardly ever spoke. When he did speak though, it was always good, and he never wasted words. They worked together amazingly well, despite Harry's constant poking and prodding into Malfoy's life, which the other man took in good stride. He knew the rookies' six months introduction would be coming up soon, and he was going to be sad to see Malfoy go. They'd become quite the team in the past couple months. Ron and Hermione still hadn't wrapped their heads around the fact that he and Malfoy were working together so closely, despite how often Harry talked about him. He supposed they were used to that from their years at Hogwarts already. 

"So Malfoy just doesn't talk," Ron repeated, over their bimonthly dinner. 

"No, he does talk, just not often," Harry corrected.

"Weird," said Ron.

"It's not that weird," Harry found himself defending. 

"How do you work together so well if he barely speaks to you?" Hermione asked, quite genuinely curious. 

"He does talk, when it's necessary, but I dunno, he nods, or I read his facial expressions, it's not that hard," Harry explained lamely. 

"So you just know what he has to say without him actually saying anything?" asked Hermione, seeming like that question had some sort of connotation Harry missed. 

"I guess," said Harry, feeling oddly like he was being interrogated. Since working with Malfoy that feeling came up a lot. 

He was spared from more questions a moment later by a curt knock on the door. Harry immediately sprung up to answer it, glad to be away from the table that had somehow felt much smaller since their last conversation. 

He opened it to find none other than Draco Malfoy standing there, on his front doorstep, handing him some papers that looked like witness testimony. Harry accepted it, and had what must have seemed like a very one sided conversation with Malfoy to Ron and Hermione eavesdropping. Only he fully understood, however, that his words were punctuated by unspoken comments from Malfoy in the form of immaculate eyebrow movement and somewhat judgemental expressions. 

"Witness statements? How did you know where I lived by the way? Right, don't ask, you have your ways. You did these interviews by yourself? Impressive. Don't be so cocky, you aren't that great with people. Yes, you heard me correctly, you aren't great at interviewing witnesses. Yes, these notes are good, that's why I complimented you, but in general I am better at this sort of thing. Yes, you're on. Ten galleons? Deal. Can we go over these tomorrow morning? Good, thanks for these. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," said Malfoy, stepping away to let Harry close the door behind him. 

Harry walked back to the table, reading the statements Malfoy had given him. They really were quite detailed, he had to hand it to him, this was good work. He realized Ron and Hermione were staring at him. 

"What?" He asked defensively. 

"That was weird," said Ron.

"He only said one word," said Hermione. 

"And?" Harry asked. 

"And nothing," said Hermione, with the tone that indicated she had dropped it for now but the subject would certainly be back later. The rest of the dinner was slightly awkward from there, but none of them decided to address it. 

Harry loved his friends with all his heart, but he was glad when they left that night so he could be alone to ponder his and Malfoy's case in the silence of the house. He could always think better in the quiet. The two of them were more similar than they knew.

It turned out that the witness testimonies had brought them to another suspect on their current case, (which was more high profile than any of the ones before it), and when they had shown up to apprehend said suspect, he had put up quite the fight. It was nothing he and Malfoy couldn't handle of course, but there were a few injuries, most of them suffered by the uncooperative suspect. Harry had locked the culprit up in the interrogation room for a while to stew before he and Malfoy would question him. They would have enough evidence to lock him away for a long time once their team had finished sweeping his house, but he had given Malfoy a couple nasty gashes, so Harry wanted him to suffer for a while. Harry immediately made Malfoy sit down in a chair on the main floor when they got back to the Auror offices, even though he was insisting that he was fine. 

Malfoy had insisted on fixing Harry's one wound before he would attend to his own, and while Harry had made quite a good argument, Malfoy had just ignored it, said nothing, and healed the cut on Harry's cheek while Harry talked at him. Harry grumbled but thanked Malfoy all the same, getting a bit annoyed when the little punk had the nerve to look smug because of his excellent healing charms and ability to defuse Harry's protests without a single word. Malfoy managed to make Harry feel a lot of things without a single word. 

Harry finally started to get to work checking out Malfoy's injuries when a couple other young Aurors walked by. 

"Got roughed up by a single suspect, Malfoy?" jeered Andrew Kirke, laughing at the blood in Malfoy's blond hair, "What have you got to say about that?"

"He's got nothing to say. Dumb, that one is, doesn't speak at all," laughed Justin Finch-Fletchley. He snatched Malfoy's wand from the desk he leaned against, and tossed it back and forth a few times, sneering at him. Harry was ready to hex him into oblivion when Malfoy spoke up. 

Malfoy raised his hand from leaning on the desk and pointed one finger casually at him. "Maybe you should try it some time, Fletchley, might do us all some good."

Fletchley opened his mouth to retort, but he couldn't. His tongue appeared to have curled back on itself, as an effect of a particularly good tongue-tying curse. A small proud smile flickered on Malfoy's lips, well concealed enough that only Harry could pick up on it. Harry had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing at the enraged look on Fletchley's face. 

The Head Auror Robards walked past at that moment, and as soon as one of his friends undid the spell, it took Fletchley no time at all to complain that Malfoy had cast a tongue-tying curse on him. 

"You can't handle a tongue-tying curse, Fletchley? You're making me regret letting you become an Auror. Like children, the lot of you rookies." Fletchley looked very pale, and stuttered to apologize and explain himself, but the older man paid him no attention. "Good work today, Potter, Malfoy, keep it up," he praised, now in the direction of Harry and Malfoy. He added after, "Did you curse Fletchley, Malfoy?"

"No, Sir, I couldn't have, Fletchley is holding my wand. Perhaps he accidentally cursed himself," Malfoy suggested innocently.

All the Aurors in the vicinity were snickering now, apart from Fletchley himself, who looked positively furious. Once the Head Auror left and everyone had regained control of themselves, Malfoy turned and smiled at the very confused and very angry Fletchley. Malfoy silently raised his hand, palm out, and his wand soared directly into it. Malfoy placed the wand down on the desk once more, and turned back to Harry who was tending to his wounds, though he was still paying rapt attention to Fletchley storming off in a huff. 

"That was amazing," said Harry, "The look on that smug bastard's face was priceless."

Malfoy smiled devilishly in response, one of his very rare full smiles that make the corners of his eyes crinkle. Harry loved those smiles. He made it his goal to try to see as many of them as possible. He'd better brush up on his comedic skills. 

*~*~*~*~*

Draco's six months were up. He was going to get his first assignment. It was a fateful Tuesday morning, with all the rookies lined up outside the Robard's office, getting called in one by one to receive their new positions. Draco's name was far down the list, yet another reason why he despised the name Malfoy. His spirits were lifted when Fletchley came out of the office looking put out, having been assigned to guard low level foreign delegates. It was not the most interesting job. Eventually, Robards stuck his head around the door and called out Draco's name. 

He stepped into the office apprehensively, sitting down very gently in the chair across Robards' desk. The Head Auror's desk was much neater than Harry's. 

"So, Malfoy," said Robards, eyes skimming down a relatively thick file in his hands, "I wasn't sure about you at first, what with your history," He paused, looking up to meet Draco's eyes. Draco did not flinch. 

"That's quite reasonable."

Robards deemed this a good answer. "But you passed training exceptionally well, and your work so far with Potter has been excellent. It was me who reassigned you with Potter, this office was robbed of talent when you were placed with... who was it now? Doesn't matter. Everyone advised me not to pair you with Potter, thought it would ignite some dark feud from your past, but that's exactly why I did it. You passed my test. Not many pass my tests, especially the ones who I expect to fail," Robards paused again. "That was a compliment, boy, take it."

"Oh, thank you sir."

"You really don't talk much, do you? It's quite refreshing. People use far to many words. That's going to help you one day, boy, that and the unnerving completely straight expression of yours."

A small part of the back of Draco's brain was dying of laughter at Robards' last and completely untrue statement, but his expression remained firm. 

"Anyways, I've been meaning to reassign Potter as well, and as you two make a good team, you're both transferring to the homicide division. You'll be partners. Do you have any objection to this?"

"None at all."

"Good, because it didn't matter what you thought anyway. You can go now, find Potter, he knows where your new office will be."

With that, Draco was dismissed, and he did not spend a second longer in that office than he had to. 

He immediately walked to Harry's now old office, calmly though admittedly at a faster pace than normal. The second he walked through the door, Harry smiled at him, looking up from a very cluttered box. 

"Did you hear?" He asked, trying to contain his excitement as he was obviously not sure if Draco shared his enthusiasm for their new assignment. 

"Yes, need help with the boxes?"

Harry smiled fully and passed Draco another box. 

Draco did not say yes if a nod would suffice, nor offer help if he could just pick up a box and start. Both of them knew that that meant he was happy about it, without him having to say it specifically. 

In the new office, Draco had his own desk. It was much neater than Harry's. The door had both their names on it. Draco was very pleased. He told Harry a funny story about a strange muggle he met that day. Harry's face lit up as he was listening to Draco recount the story. Draco pretended not to notice how much Harry loved it when Draco responded to his anecdotes with one of his own. Apart from all the murder, he was going to really enjoy this job. 

*~*~*~*~*

It turned out that getting a pay raise from a promotion wasn't just because of the higher standing, it was because of the increased workload. Harry and Draco were the most competent team in the homicide department, possibly in the entire Auror department, so naturally all the complicated and long cases went to them. Draco appreciated the work, he was glad for the ability to get lost in a case, to spend every waking thought trying to decipher the puzzle, but when he went home in the evenings, he was tired. Sleep didn't come easily, so sometimes he would just avoid it, or more accurately, it would avoid him. 

When he wasn't at work he was at home, and after a while he realized he didn't go anywhere else. He used to; he used to go out to bars and clubs, meet people, dance, wake up in different beds every morning, or simply leave and wander the streets when it was dark. He'd stopped after - well, it didn't matter why he'd stopped, he'd just stopped. He told himself that he didn't have time for that kind of lifestyle. He told himself that it didn't suit him. He was an Auror now, he had responsibilities, he had a life, he had Potter-- Harry, a friend. He had a different life before he finished Auror training, though Draco wasn't sure that it really constituted being called a life. It was the period after school and the war and before he had a job. It was more of a transition period characterized by a feeling of being lost. It was something he wanted to forget. 

Draco was sitting on his couch in his dim living room, rewriting case reports that he needed to catch up on when there was a knock at his door. Draco looked up, confused, his heart pounding in his ears. The silence in his apartment after that knock suddenly rang in his ears. He waved his hands over the reports and they closed. There was another knock at the door, patient, but insistent. His wand was in the next room.

Draco got up and walked softly across the room to the door, not fully sure his brain was controlling his limbs. No one knew his new address apart from his mother, who was tucked away in a vineyard in France, happily sampling many bottles of wine. Draco opened the door a crack, looking past the chain to see the man standing at his door. 

Draco's previously racing heartbeat slowed. He could have sworn that it may have stopped. 

"You moved." The voice was cool, it was the voice that Draco knew better than his own. "Aren't you going to let me in?"

Some part of Draco's mind must have told him not to do it, but he couldn't hear it. Smoothly, with no hesitance, Draco closed the door and pulled back the chain, opening it wide and stepping back to let the man in. 

"Nice place," he said, walking past Draco standing frozen with his hand still on the knob, "What has it been? Three months? Four?"

Draco closed the door a beat late, answering the question mechanically. "Just over four, I believe."

The visitor continued to look around Draco's apartment as he hung his brown leather jacket on a hook by the door. Draco remembered trying on that jacket once, it was much too big for him. It was like a blanket around his shoulders and went down past his hips. "So, you have any scotch in this place, Draco?"

Draco nodded as the man settled down on the sofa. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed two glasses and the bottle of his best scotch. He slowly poured them, his hand still knowing the right amount. He walked back into the lounge without a thought in his head and handed over the drink. 

"Perfect, thank you," he said, accepting the drink graciously. 

Draco sat on the opposite end of the sofa and sipped his own drink, using the sharp taste to ground himself.

"How's the job?" he asked after several moments of thick silence. 

"It's good," Draco replied, "I got a promotion."

"I always told you that you'd be a spectacular Auror. I wasn't wrong." It was a compliment, but it didn't feel like it. 

Draco nodded. 

"I forgot how quiet you are," he said, moving down the couch to stroke Draco's cheek with the back of his hand. His skin was rough, and so familiar. "I've missed you."

Draco closed his eyes, knuckles white around his glass. The touch of the man's hand stilled on his cheekbone and rested there for a minute. Draco could feel his gaze on his face, but didn't open his eyes. A pair of lips touched to Draco's, slow at first, until reflex took over and Draco melted into the kiss. The taste of scotch and cigarettes flitted onto Draco's tongue and he delved deeper, hands fisting in the man's shirt, needing to cling to something. Draco felt empty. 

Draco pushed him back and the man was confused, but Draco downed his scotch in one go and he laughed, wrapping an arm around Draco's torso. The bright sound of the laughter filled Draco's apartment, and it felt out of place as this home had only known silence. They kissed again and Draco lost himself in the familiar feeling. He knew this. This is what he did best. Calloused hands pushed at the hem of Draco's shirt, and he gave in to it. He gave into the sensation.

Later, they lay in Draco's bed, and he felt boneless. He told himself that was what happened after good sex. That wasn't the truth. He felt like his body was betraying him, because it craved skin to skin contact above everything else. If this was what he needed, why did he have such an uneasy feeling in his chest? Why was his heartbeat so fluttery? It was probably just affection. Didn't people always say they got butterflies when they were in love? Draco didn't think he was in love. 

"So you're working with Harry Potter?" The sound of another voice in his apartment still startled Draco. 

"Yes, we're partners," he answered. 

"Partners?" he asked suspiciously. 

"We were assigned to each other, we work cases together," Draco clarified. 

"Aah, good. Do you still go to clubs and hook up with random guys?"

Draco's heart rate rose again for the billionth time this evening.

"No."

"Good boy."

Draco felt sick.

*~*~*~*~*

The next night, Draco came home from work when he knew his apartment would be empty, put on his tightest pair of jeans and a dash of eyeliner, and went to his favourite club.

The music was slightly too loud, the drinks were slightly too warm, and it was much too hot, but that was just the way Draco liked it. Draco sat by the bar, and for a moment thought he saw a familiar face, but decided that it was just a trick of the flashing lights. He ordered another drink, making eye contact with the bartender for slightly longer than was necessary. 

Heat radiated toward his right arm, and he felt someone sit next to him and order a beer. 

"Fancy seeing you here," said the man beside him in a voice Draco knew very well. 

He swiveled in his seat to see that yes, Harry Potter was perched on the stool next to him, looking absolutely wonderful out of the Auror robes and in casual clothes. Harry's jeans were slightly tighter than they needed to be, and his neckline was slightly more plunging than normal, but that was just the way Draco liked it.

"Could say the same to you," said Draco almost flirtatiously. He had several drinks in his system, and for some reason a lot more confidence than he'd had in years. 

"Draco Malfoy in a gay club, what would the Prophet have to say about that?" Harry said back, in the same borderline flirty tone. Maybe it was just the music that made everything sound so suggestive. Maybe it was Harry's collarbones. Maybe it was the fire in Draco's veins. 

"Doubt they'd care at this point."

"Doubt they'd care, or doubt you'd care?"

"Both." Draco wasn't sure how long he would keep this up, talking with Harry, but he decided to roll with it as long as it lasted. 

"Any promising prospects?" Harry asked, turning to face the dance floor. 

"Not yet," said Draco, turning as well, "Pickings are slim tonight."

"Seems like I've already met most of them in here."

"Do you even remember everyone you've met in one of these places?"

"No, but that's what makes it seem like I've known most of them."

Draco laughed, but he wasn't sure if Harry could hear the sound over the booming of the bass. "Perhaps you should try a new club," Draco suggested. 

"Done that. Gonna run out eventually."

"Me too."

"So tell me, who in here have you crossed paths with before?"

Draco was feeling very bold tonight. 

"Grey shirt, hair that looks like it wouldn't move if you hit it with a sledgehammer," said Draco, pointing. 

"Mmm, unfortunate," said Harry, leaning in closer to Draco to point out someone else. "That one there, vest guy, decent in bed but never try to have a conversation with him, it'll take your IQ down two notches every minute."

"Him over there too, asked for my number then proceeded to take three shots of tequila."

"Guy in the red shirt, two o'clock, worst O face you've ever seen."

So it became a game then, telling each other their worst hookup stories. When they ran out, they started recounting the highlights of their best hookups. This is when they sat much closer together, and touched each other's arms when the story was particularly funny. By the end of the night, they felt very warm and very drunk. The next day at work was slightly awkward and slightly charged with... something, but that was just the way Draco liked it. 

Despite this success, there was still a gnawing feeling of guilt in Draco's stomach that he couldn't shake. Instead, he did what he did best: ignored it.

*~*~*~*~*

He'd ran into Draco at a gay club. He'd gotten drunk with Draco at said club. They'd shared hookup stories at that bar. Harry was nursing a bad hangover. 

Draco walked into their shared office and wordlessly handed Harry a vial of  vile hangover potion. Harry'd accepted it with a nod of thanks. Was this how it was going to be again? Draco saying ten words a day, them being nothing more than partners at work? They'd talked all night. There had been something there, Harry was sure of it. 

Once Harry stopped looking so sickly, Draco handed him a file on their next case: a report from the ME's office that had ruled a witch's death a homicide. Harry guessed that this was how things were going to be. This is not what Harry wanted. To be truthful, Harry had no idea what he wanted. 

Harry sighed, and decided that the best thing would just be to work, and forget that night. They were colleagues and they were partners. In this line of work, you couldn't afford to jeopardize that. 

"Do you want to start by talking to the family and friends?" Harry asked in a much less upbeat voice than usual. 

Draco nodded and grabbed his cloak wordlessly and glided out the door with the impeccable posture he always had. Harry grabbed his own cloak and followed his partner, in a decidedly bad mood. 

The witch's sister was particularly tearful, which put Harry in an even worse mood as the witch explained how their parents were killed in the war. Survivor's guilt never really did go away. Hermione always told him that he wasn't responsible for saving everyone, but there was always the gnawing feeling that if only he'd have found the horcruxes faster, things could have been different. Draco reached out as if to reassure Harry, but his hand stopped partway and fell back into his lap. Instead, he handed a tissue to the sobbing witch and avoided Harry's eye. Harry was beginning to get the feeling that perhaps this wasn't entirely about him. He really knew nothing of Draco's life outside of work. Was it right for him to ask?

"How did Olivia die?" the sobbing sister asked them through choked tears. 

Harry and Draco snapped back to the situation at hand, feeling slightly mortified that they were more worried with their own issues. 

"A curse," said Harry gently, even though he knew that making the word sound less awful would do nothing for the witch's grief. 

The witch nodded, trying to hold back her tears enough to speak. "Do you know who did it?"

"No, Miss, not yet," said Harry, "Do you know of anyone who may have wanted to harm your sister?"

"No," she blubbered, "Everyone loved Olivia." After this, the witch broke down again, and Draco and Harry could clearly see that she would not be coherent again. 

"Do you know who else we could ask, someone close to her?" Asked Draco quickly while the witch was still paying attention to them. 

"Her- her boyfriend, Thomas. They shared a flat not too far from here." The next part of her sentence was mostly unintelligible, but was accompanied by a gesture to an address book which Draco flipped through while Harry awkwardly patted the still sobbing girl's back. 

Once Draco had found what he was looking for, he nodded to Harry who expertly extracted himself from the sister. 

When they arrived at the boyfriend's house, Draco knocked curtly on the door and stood back to wait. He and Harry didn't speak a word to each other, which Harry supposed was normal, but he'd hoped that he'd been getting somewhere with Draco recently, getting him to open up more. He mentally shook himself. This was not the time to be contemplating his personal life. 

The door opened, and the man's face fell slightly when he noticed the Auror robes. 

"Can I help you?" Thomas asked. 

"May we come in?" Harry asked. 

Thomas nodded and held open the door. Harry focused his attention on breaking the bad news to him, while Draco glanced around the flat, presumably analyzing what personal items he could see. 

"We are sorry to inform you that Olivia was found dead this morning near the Thames," said Harry, "I'm very sorry for your loss."

Thomas simply blinked at them several times before saying, "Oh. How- how did it happen?"

"We aren't sure of that yet, but it appears to be a homicide."

"Oh," said Thomas, sitting down heavily in a chair, "Oh."

This was the other common way they saw loved ones process the news. It was usually either hysterical sobbing or complete blankness. Draco and Harry took the liberty of sitting on a sofa across from him, waiting until he'd gathered himself slightly before asking him any questions. Harry quickly observed Draco as he observed the flat, and was confused to see a rather stormy expression lying just below the calm and collected surface. 

Another surprise was Draco asking the first question.

"Do you know of anyone who wanted to hurt Olivia?" He asked, looking at Thomas cooly. 

"No, I can't think of anyone. Olivia was kind, and she mostly kept to herself after her parents died."

"When was the last time you saw her?" Draco asked. 

"Yesterday morning, when she left for work. I thought she may have stayed late, so I went to bed, but she wasn't here this morning either."

Thomas' answer was very coherent, almost too coherent. Maybe Harry had misread his blankness, it could have been purposeful. That seemed to be what Draco was thinking. 

"Were you two having any issues recently?" Harry asked. 

"Well, we were having some money troubles, but we were working through it, it was nothing too bad."

"Did these financial troubles put any strain on your relationship?" Draco asked, his tone just this side of accusatory. 

"No," said Thomas, appearing to be fighting off anger, "I loved Olivia. Ask anyone."

"Do you mind if we take a look around?" Draco asked almost immediately after Thomas finished speaking. 

"Fine, I have nothing to hide."

That last sentence was said flatly, and Harry took it as a cue to hurry it up before he kicked them out. While Harry was thinking all of this, Draco was already up and walking into the kitchen and the bedroom, peering at things in his strange way. He always looked at objects at a crime scene or suspect's house as if glaring at them would cause the inanimate objects to divulge all their secrets to him. By the way he picked up on so many things, Harry wouldn't be surprised if they actually did. 

As a way of distracting the boyfriend from Draco's scrutinization, he busied him with providing details of Olivia's life, routines, jobs, and friends. Finally, Draco came back into the main room and made eye contact with Harry, a cue to wrap it up and leave. 

"Thank you for your time, and once again, very sorry for your loss. I assure you we'll catch whoever is behind this." With a curt nod, the two Aurors left the flat.

Once they'd apparated back to their office, Draco turned to Harry. 

"He did it." It had been a long time since Harry had seen that anger on Draco's features. 

"Slow down there, Draco, how could you possibly know that?"

"I just know."

"Yes, and that's all the testimony we need for a trial. What's wrong with you today?"

Draco huffed and flopped into his desk chair. "Nothing is wrong. He did it."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He sat on the edge of his desk and decided to humour his partner. "Tell me why. We need more than just your gut to make an arrest."

Draco looked uncomfortable at being put on the spot, but he explained anyway. 

"There is a single picture of Olivia's sister in her flat, and based on the sister's river of tears, they were close. There's also not a single picture of her parents anywhere in her home."

"And how the hell does that send you to the conclusion, 'her boyfriend murdered her'?"

Draco continued without acknowledging Harry's question. "The boyfriend had no reaction when we told him his girlfriend had been murdered."

"He could have been in shock."

"He basically challenged me to find evidence in their flat."

"These things are suspicious, but they don't add up to him being the killer," said Harry slowly, and admittedly quite patronizingly. It wasn't his fault that Draco was jumping to conclusions.

"He is the killer, Harry, he just is. I know it."

"Draco, if you want me to believe this, I need at least some sort of proof," said Harry tiredly. 

This was the moment when Draco decided to stop replying to him. It was usually fine when they were working in sync, but right now, they could not be less of a team. Harry sat back behind his desk to look through the notes he'd taken of the boyfriend's interview. An hour passed in stony silence. Draco grabbed his cloak with a grand swish and left before Harry could ask where he was going, and returned another hour later with a notepad that he tossed on Harry's desk, startling him from a bored and slightly angry stupor. 

"What's this?" Harry asked, opening it straight away as he didn't expect a response. He didn't get one, and discovered on his own that it was statements from the neighbours who said they'd heard Olivia and Thomas yelling on many occasions. More accurately, the fighting was mostly Thomas yelling. Harry's eyes widened as he looked at Draco now sitting across the room at his own desk. 

"What did you get from the boyfriend while I was searching?" Draco asked flatly. 

Harry levitated over his own notes for Draco to read. His eyes skimmed down the page quickly, eyebrows furrowing. 

"Her routine is too perfect, it's the same thing every day."

"She goes to work and then home."

Draco met Harry's eyes across their office. 

"Is this what you were thinking?" Harry asked, "That he was controlling of her?"

Draco nodded. 

"If we find the break in the pattern, we can figure out why he killed her."

"This is a long shot," said Harry.

Draco nodded. 

"We could be going completely in the wrong direction."

Draco did not nod. 

"Fine," said Harry, "But if this doesn't work it's both our asses on the line, got it?"

Draco nodded. 

Over the next few days they followed Olivia's routine, they talked to her friends, and seemingly got nowhere. They were growing more and more frustrated, and with that Draco grew more and more silent if that even was possible, until on the third day of searching for clues that simply weren't there, Harry decided they needed a break, and fresh eyes. 

"Okay, we have to stop for a bit," said Harry, dragging Draco into a coffee shop near Olivia's work once they'd finished questioning almost every employee. They'd all said the same; that Olivia seemed nice, quiet, but no one really ever knew her well. 

A sweet looking girl, about 19 years old Harry would guess, came up to take their orders. 

"Hi! What can I get for you boys?" She asked brightly. Her name tag read Jessie, and had a little flower sticker beside it. 

Harry smiled up at her and ordered black coffee, and Draco rather grumpily though ever politely ordered a cappuccino. 

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry across the little round table. 

"We aren't going to find anything if we're all wound up. We needed a break," said Harry, ignoring his partner's persistent foul mood since this case started. Harry pulled out the picture of Olivia they'd been using and set it on the table. "She deserves justice, and we can't seem to find any proof," he said sadly. 

Draco lowered his head and started at the photo, reluctantly agreeing with Harry. 

Jessie walked back to their table cheerily carrying their drinks. 

"Once cappuccino for you, and one coffee for you-" she said, placing their drinks down. Her face fell completely when she saw the photo of Olivia, her hand frozen around Harry's mug. 

"Why do you have a photo of Olivia?" She asked in a voice completely unlike the sunny demeanor they'd heard just a moment ago. 

Draco and Harry looked at each other in shock before answering. 

"Do you know her?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too desperate. 

"Yeah, she comes in here all the time. Real lovely girl, always orders hot chocolate with extra whip, even in the summer." She sat down in the empty chair next to Harry, "I think I'm in love with that girl, actually." This was another shock to Harry and Draco, whose eyebrows shot up at this small statement. "You still haven't told me why you have her photo."

"We're-" Harry started, not sure he was capable of breaking the news to this peppy girl who now seemed so sad. 

Draco took over for him. "We're investigating her death."

Jessie clutched a hand over her mouth. "Oh God," she gasped, "Livie... When that guy came in here a few days ago, I was worried that I hadn't seen her, but I thought- I thought that maybe she'd just changed her mind."

"Changed her mind about what?" Harry asked.

"I'd been eyeing her for almost a year. I knew that she liked me too, sometimes when I was on a break we'd sit and talk. I finally gathered the courage to ask her out last week, and I swear, I'd never seen her face light up like that. She always looked sad when she came in, but she was a little happier when she left. We were going to be something, but then a few days ago, she came in, and I was behind the counter, and this guy came in and started arguing with her. I don't know what they were saying, but then she left with him, and she just shot me an apologetic glance over the guy's shoulder. She didn't look happy to see him, I couldn't catch much. Oh God, did he kill her?" Jessie started to look panicked. 

"Jessie, did you hear the man's name?" Asked Harry, holding her gaze. 

She nodded, "I heard her call him Thomas."

Draco looked at Harry. They'd done it. 

They recorded Jessie's statement, arrested Thomas and got a confession under veritaserum, then all that was left was the reports and practicing their testimony for the trial. Harry suggested takeaway, thinking that their success had fixed the rift that had formed between them, but Draco politely declined, and went home at a relatively normal time. That was certainly strange. Harry tried not to dwell on it as he sat in the office working alone, but of course, it was all he could think about. 

*~*~*~*~*

The next few weeks went by somewhat normally, or somewhat like the normal they'd developed. They were once again a great team, but it seemed like the friendship that had been developing was all but gone. Draco had reverted to the level of conversation of their first month working together, and after a while Harry stopped prying into his personal life, because he knew it wouldn't get anywhere. Draco didn't ever stay at the office with Harry past 9:00 now, and Harry didn't expect him to. Harry thought he was an idiot for ever thinking that they could be friends. Maybe it was all in his head, but he also thought that Draco was starting to look thinner. 

Draco walked into the office one morning with a black eye. 

"Draco, what happened?" asked Harry immediately, standing up from his chair to get a closer look at the injury. 

"Nothing," said Draco, crossing the small room to open one of his desk drawers. He pulled out his jar of salve for bruises, he must have left it there and not had time to heal it at home. That made Harry wonder how often he got injured without Harry having any idea. 

"Draco that's not nothing, it's swollen up badly."

"It's fine," Draco insisted, giving Harry his look that meant 'move on'. 

Harry dropped the subject, but Draco was quiet that day, as quiet as that first day he walked into Harry's office and back into his life. 

They decided to split up the work, and Draco mostly avoided Harry until Harry entered to office at the end of the day to grab his cloak to see Draco eyeing the last traces of his bruise in the mirror. They made eye contact in the glass, and before Harry could stop himself he said, "Draco," and nothing else, because Draco knew what his words couldn't explain. 

"I handled it," Draco assured him solemnly. 

"If you need-" said Harry, trailing off part way through his sentence. 

"I promise, it's handled."

Harry realized that Draco had become as adept at reading Harry's silences as he had with Draco's. Harry nodded, and bid his partner goodnight. 

The next day, Draco told him a story about the peacocks at the Manor growing up. It was a peace offering, and Harry accepted it wordlessly. He didn't need to say anything at all to know the temporary rift between them had vanished. Maybe he hadn't been wrong before about them being more than just colleagues. He had no idea what had happened for Draco to get a black eye, but whatever it was, it must have broken through to him.

Harry invited Draco to drinks with him, Ron, and Hermione the next week, once things had settled into a friendlier and less awkward dynamic. Draco looked shocked, but politely accepted. Harry knew that Draco had said he was not doing anything that night, and that Draco would not say no when Harry knew he had no excuse. 

Drinks went moderately well as they had alcohol as their buffer, and Harry knew when to take over the conversation to give Draco a break. At around 11:00, Draco flashed Harry his 'save me' look, and Harry announced that they had to be at work early tomorrow, and swiftly paid the tab so they could leave. 

Draco was out the door in a few seconds flat, and when Harry followed him into the cold February air, he had his head back with his eyes closed, breathing deeply. Harry watched the clouds of Draco's breath for a few seconds, waiting for him to collect himself before he spoke. 

"Sorry if that was a little much, Ron and Hermione can be a bit overprotective."

Draco inhaled and exhaled once more before he replied, eyes still shut. "I'm not dangerous." He said this in the same tentative voice Harry remembered vividly from the trials in the Ministry's huge courtrooms. He hadn't heard that voice in a while. 

"I think the murderers we put in prison would argue with that," said Harry in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. 

Draco finally opened his eyes and turned his gaze to Harry. 

"I'm of no danger to you."

"I know that," said Harry, finding himself trapped by Draco's grey eyes staring so directly into his own. 

"Good," said Draco softly. 

Harry was struck in that moment with a full understanding of Draco Malfoy, the enigma he'd been trying to crack for these past few months. He had seemed like a mystery, hidden in layers of unreadable expressions and no words, a stony facade he showed to the world which made him invincible. He was not invincible though, as he'd been showing Harry slowly as he opened up, and really, he wasn't trying to be. He was breakable just like everyone else, and maybe he had been broken this whole time and was just trying to put the pieces back together in the only way he knew how. It was instinct that drove him then to take the two steps forward and wrap his arms tightly around Draco's thin body, holding him close to his chest. 

Draco was very shocked for a moment and didn't know what to do with his arms, but as Harry squeezed him gently, he wrapped them around Harry's back and let himself be hugged. Draco dropped his head to lean on Harry's shoulder, and neither of them wanted to let go just yet. They did break apart eventually, having no idea how long they actually stood there holding each other. At this point, there was no awkwardness between them. 

"I'll see you at work tomorrow?" Draco asked. 

"Yeah."

"Do I really have to be there early?"

"No, come in whenever you want, I'll cover the Wilkinson case reports for you."

"Thank you," said Draco, and Harry understood that it was for more than the reports. 

"Anytime," said Harry, and Draco understood that it was for more than the reports. 

That night marked the point of no return: they were now friends, and that wasn't going to go away any time soon. 

*~*~*~*~*

"So can I ask you something?" Harry asked tentatively. 

"Go for it," Draco replied, lounging rather dramatically on Harry's couch. 

"How is it that you talk so much to me now, but not to anyone else?" He asked it like the question had been weighing on him for a long time. 

Draco sat up straight, chewing on his bottom lip before answering. "It's not only you. I see Blaise every now and then, and I write to Pansy every week, but that's pretty much it. I don't have many friends if you hadn't already deduced that."

"I know, but why me? You barely spoke five words a day to me six months ago."

Draco chewed his lip again, it was his nervous tick. "I don't know. There's just something about you that makes me want to talk to you. You're... trustworthy I guess. You didn't give up on me. No one sticks around long enough to find out what I have to say."

They were both silent for almost a minute, before Harry said almost inaudibly, "You're worth waiting for."

The conversation was over then, and they watched trashy romance movies together on Harry's couch after Harry had to come over and comfort Draco when he started crying during them. It got cold as the night went on, so Draco pulled a huge blanket over them both. They fell asleep on each other some time during the third romcom, and no one in the office was surprised when they walked in together the next morning. 

"I have to go pass off some files to the DMLE floor, wish me luck," said Draco overdramatically, grabbing a hefty stack of parchment.

"Good luck!" called Harry absentmindedly as Draco left their office. 

It did take Draco a long time to pass off the files, because as soon as he walked out of the lift he received a significant amount of dirty stares, and was accosted by many solicitors whose trials he had to testify in. He was very good on the stand if he did say so himself, but Harry tended to get too emotional. Draco was teaching Harry how to fix that, and Harry was lightening Draco's reputation simply by associating with him. Solicitors were never satisfied, though. 

When he finally managed to extract himself and return to the Auror offices, Harry walked up to him with the glint of gossip in his eye. 

Draco quirked an eyebrow as he approached. 

"Artemis is here," said Harry in his gossip-voice. 

"What." said Draco, his blood running cold. 

"Your boyfriend, Artemis?" said Harry, misinterpreting Draco's sudden paleness to be a reaction to Harry finally getting details of his personal life. 

"Right, right yes," said Draco distractedly, "Yes." He walked to their office, again in a bit of a trance, and Harry followed, slightly confused but still with his gossip mode enabled. 

Draco turned the knob and entered their office, a space that he spent so many hours in but somehow felt so foreign now, as if he had no idea what he would find behind the door. When he walked in, there was Artemis, inspecting his desk, and suddenly there was a tidal wave inside him because here he was, in the other half of Draco's life, in his office, the office he shared with Harry, who he was beginning to call a friend. 

"You weren't at home last night," he said cooly, in a tone that would seem nonchalant to everyone but Draco. 

"I went out," said Draco through his teeth. 

"You didn't tell me," said Artemis softly, holding Draco's hand. 

Draco was fuming, but Artemis was calm. Draco was being ridiculous, he shouldn't be getting angry. 

Artemis placed a kiss on Draco's cheek. "I'll see you tonight." 

Draco hummed in response, and Artemis left, saying a cordial goodbye to Harry on his way out. 

"He seems lovely," said Harry after the door closed, but it barely registered in Draco's brain. 

"Can we just work?" Draco asked.

Harry laughed brightly, and Draco felt a sharp pain in his chest. 

*~*~*~*~*

It was January, seven months since Draco and Harry had become partners. They were currently throwing around a fizzing ball from Weazley's Wizard Wheezes, as it seemed the Wizarding World's new year's resolution was to not murder anyone. 

"Is it bad to be partly hoping that someone gets murdered? I'm very bored," Draco grumbled, tossing the ball straight at Harry's face. 

"Probably," said Harry, catching it without any sign of difficulty, "But I know what you mean."

Harry threw the ball back at Draco, fast, but still, the other man caught it effortlessly. "This is possibly more boring than doing nothing, we're both seekers," Draco complained. 

"I was a better seeker than you were," said Harry, adding spin to his next throw. 

Draco snagged the ball from the air lazily, "That is not true."

"It definitely is, I bet I could send an owl to Oliver Wood, he'd remember the stats."

"He's biased."

"But numbers aren't."

"Whatever, I always preferred being a Chaser anyway."

"Really? A Chaser? I never would have thought."

"Yep, I prefer chasing. Shocking."

"There are more shocking revelations."

"Like what?" Challenged Draco, narrowing his eyes and stopping their game of catch. 

Harry was hooked now, and his competitive spirit won out. 

"The sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin."

"No. That's a lie."

"It's completely true."

"Alright, I can believe that."

"You're just pretending not to be shocked so you can win."

"Not everything is a game, Potter."

"Now that's a lie, and you know it."

"I would never lie."

"Bullshit, you lie all the time."

"I wouldn't lie to you."

"Sure you wouldn't."

"I really wouldn't, I have nothing to gain from it."

"But once you do have something to gain from it, you find nothing morally wrong with lying to your partner?"

"No, because you are my partner I will never have anything to gain from lying to you."

"Oh."

"Slytherins aren't all backstabbers, we value loyalty."

"That makes sense."

"Just like you Gryffindors."

"But now we aren't Slytherins and Gryffindors, are we? We're on the same team now."

"We are. It's nice."

"It is."

There was a knock at the door, and Harry and Draco had to tear their eyes away from their staring match. 

"Someone's been murdered," said Cindy, the secretary, walking in and handing a file to Draco who'd jumped up too eagerly, "You boys have fun with that."

"Thanks, Cindy," Harry called while Draco focused all his attention on the new murder.

"Sometimes I worry about you," said Harry, leaning over Draco's shoulder to read the Coroner's report. 

"A poisoning," Draco read, "This is going to be an interesting one."

"Get that excited glint out of your eye before we go talk to the family. You love this job too much."

"What can I say? I love mysteries."

The case was proving to be difficult. With poisoning, there was a 50/50 chance that it would be extremely easy, or extremely difficult. Harry and Draco had never had good luck. They'd gotten a week into the investigation now, with only 3 weak suspects and another body turning up. The Head Auror had to come into their office at midnight telling them to go home, as they were no good to anyone if they were sleep deprived. They both bid somber farewells and went their separate ways, but they knew that sleep was probably futile. 

Harry did manage to sleep, and it was anything but pleasant. 

His normal nighmares and flashbacks to the war were accompained by a twisted scene of Draco being poisoned by their mysterious killer, slowly choking and convulsing in Harry's arms while he had to sit and watch; unable to do anything to help him. He woke in a cold sweat, thrashing and screaming. It was a good thing his wards included soundproofing. 

*~*~*~*~*

A loud ringing noise blared out in the silence of his flat, sending an icy chill down Draco's spine. He sat bolt upright immediately, only calming slightly when he realized the source of the piercing noise was the 'cell phone' Harry had insisted on giving him a month earlier. He stumbled for it in the dark, finally managing to flip it open and press it to his ear. 

"'Ello?" said Draco groggily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

"What the bloody hell is that?" Artemis grumbled, sitting up and leaning into Draco. Draco waved over his shoulder at him and didn't answer. 

"Draco," said Harry, out of breath and sounding panicked, "I'm sorry, I didn't know who else to call."

"What is it?" Draco asked immediately, already tying up his shoes which conveniently lay by his bedside.

"Draco, what is it?" Artemis asked again. 

Draco held the phone away from his face and hissed in response, "Poisoning case." He put the phone back to his ear as quickly as he could. He was very unsure of the range of the device's 'microphone' and didn't want to take any chances. 

"I just," Harry paused, trying to get his voice to stop shaking, "Can you come over? I need- I dunno- I just-"

"I'm on my way," said Draco, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he threw on his cloak. 

"Thank you," said Harry, sounding relieved and impatient. 

Draco flipped the phone closed without another word, walking swiftly into the lounge to grab his cloak. 

"You're going out? At this hour?" asked Artemis angrily, leaning against the bedroom door frame. 

"Yes," said Draco curtly, one hand almost on the doorknob.

"You're going to see Harry?" Artemis accused. 

Draco didn't face him, instead he addressed his reply to the surrounding air as he threw open the front door. "It's work, Artemis, you know this. I have to go." With that he shut the door behind him and disapparated on the spot.  

Once he'd readjusted to his new surroundings, he jogged down the quiet, dark street and took Harry's front steps two at a time. He rapped his knuckles a few times in quick succession on Harry's door, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. Harry pulled open the door several seconds later and yanked Draco inside immediately, shutting and bolting the door behind him. 

Draco surveyed the man in front of him, wearing pajamas, on the edge of hyperventilating, and looking like he could fall apart at the slightest breeze. He wasted no time in pulling Harry into his arms, letting him drop his head down on Draco's shoulder. He rubbed slow circles into Harry's back, waiting for his breathing to even out. 

"Nightmare?" He asked softly. 

Harry nodded into Draco's shoulder, finally looking up when he'd collected himself enough. 

He pulled away and pushed up his glasses. "Sorry, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay."

"I'm in one piece, just the way you left me," Draco assured. 

Harry nodded, like he was trying to convince himself of that fact. "Could you-" he began, dropping off his request before he could bring himself to say it. 

"Could I what?" Draco prompted softly. 

"Will you stay? This case- I don't want you getting hurt."

Draco nodded, hanging his cloak on the stand in Harry's hallway. 

"I could use the company too," said Draco, conveniently leaving out the fact that he hadn't been alone when Harry called. What he needed was Harry's company.

They both looked at each other with complete understanding, before Harry said, "Come on, we should at least try to get a few hours sleep."

"What time is it anyway?" asked Draco, following Harry to the bedroom. 

"Two a.m."

"That would explain how dark it is outside."

"Mhm. I don't have a spare mattress."

"I don't mind."

They got in on different sides of the bed, but before long they were in each other's arms, because they needed the comfort that can only come from human touch. They'd been starved of a night like this for too long, of someone that they could be comfortable with, of a bed that was always warm, and arms that promised security. 

*~*~*~*~*

"What do you mean he's missing?" Harry demanded.

"At the apparition point," Celia babbled, "He was there, and then someone apparated right behind him and took him completely by surprise. He was gone the next second!"

"Did you see who took him?" Harry asked, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Draco had been kidnapped. This wasn't the first time, so he didn't know why he was so freaked. Although, it usually ended very badly and very quickly for the poor soul who thought they could get the jump on Draco Malfoy. 

"I didn't see his face," she answered, wringing her hands, "I just remember that he was wearing black muggle clothes, was about the same height as Draco, and had broad shoulders."

It wasn't much to go on, but Harry'd found things with less. He just hoped he did it in enough time. 

"Thanks Celia," he remembered to say as he started off running towards his office. 

"Potter! Where are you going?" Called Robards, having to hurry to catch up to him. 

"I've got to find where they've taken him."

"Potter, they aren't idiots, they will have wards against tracking spells."

Harry was rummaging through his pockets, ignoring how Robards looked concerned for Harry's sanity, finally letting out a cry of "Aha!" once he'd found what he was looking for. 

"What the bloody hell is that?" asked Robards, completely lost now. 

"Cell phone," said Harry, a slightly manic glint in his eye. 

"And what do you propose we do with that? Call the muggle police?"

"Nope," said Harry, "We're going to call the cell phone company, and have them send us the GPS coordinates."

Robards looked still confused but now impressed. "Okay, Potter, you follow whatever that lead is, and I'll assemble a team to look through your suspect list to see if we can dig anything up."

Harry nodded, but he was already leaving the office to go find a muggle library. 

Three hours later, he'd found the location, got a team of Aurors together, and they were surrounding an old warehouse on the outskirts of the city, waiting for Harry's signal to storm the place. Just as Harry was about to give his cue to blow in the doors, they opened. Draco fucking Malfoy just walked out, blood and dirt in his hair, sporting several impressive bruises and cuts, and simply spat blood onto the asphalt and said, "What took you so bloody long?"

Harry wasn't sure if he laughed, squawked, or even almost cried a bit, but by some miracle he managed to shout, "Sweep the building," before running straight to Draco. 

"Hey Harry," he said, swiping blood out of the path of his eye, "Just the man I wanted to see."

"Can you see? You're eye's swelling up something awful."

"I can see just fine, however you have very shitty vision," Draco observed. 

Harry laughed, holding Draco by the shoulders and inspecting his numerous wounds. 

"It's nothing fatal, though I should probably get to the hospital before I pass out from minor blood loss," Draco said casually. 

"It's not minor if you pass out!" Harry yelped. Their moment was interrupted by Fletchley reappearing from the warehouse.

"There's one unconscious guy in there," Fletchley reported, sauntering towards Harry and Draco, "We're bringing him in now."

"He's the killer," said Draco, "Captured me also. Bastard," He cursed softly, "Not like last time I was kidnapped, less of an idiot. Magical ropes, couldn't... thingy them, y'know? Very angry, he was." Draco was mumbling now; not the mumbling of someone tired, but the mumbling of someone who couldn't manage to properly connect thoughts together.  This had Harry very worried. 

"Okay I'm going to take him to St.Mungo's, can you take the questioning?" Harry asked Fletchley. 

"Sure, I'll let Robards know."

"Thanks," said Harry, wrapping his arm around Draco's waist, "Let's get you to the hospital."

"Mmm," Draco hummed, leaning his head on Harry's shoulder, "I've always hated hospitals. Too many... sick people. Disturbing. Boring, though a respectable profession. I considered it once."

Harry nodded at Draco's words and secured his grip on him, apparting them to the emergency entrance, where the muggles couldn't see him dragging in a very bloody man wearing crimson robes. The Healers in the emergency room knew them well by now, and rushed in to look at Draco.

"Hello," Draco greeted warmly.

"Did someone hit him with a truck and then a cheering charm?" One of the medi witches asked. 

"I'm not quite sure," said Harry, "He got kidnapped. We found him like this, the other guy unconscious."

"We can run diagnostics. Know your way to the waiting room?"

"It's my second home."

He sat in that dreaded waiting room for an hour and a half, extremely worried. He was so worried that he couldn't sit still, but he was also too worried to get up and pace. He then sat, fidgeting and counting the minutes. Counting minutes is very painful, but it does help the time go by, and my, does ninety minutes go by slowly. 

"Auror Potter?" Harry's head snapped up, "He's absolutely fine, you can take him home, but have someone stay with him to make sure he's okay."

Harry nodded, and followed the mediwitch to Draco.

"Hey," Harry greeted cautiously, "How you feeling?"

"Like I was beaten up. How much did I ramble?"

"Not too much, it was nothing embarrassing."

"Oh thank Merlin."

The mediwitch handed him discharge papers which he hastily signed, and then Harry made to take Draco's arm to help him to the apparition point. 

"Potter, I am capable of walking on my own," Draco protested, trying and failing to shake off Harry's protective grip.

"No you're not, you've just been kidnapped," said Harry sensibly.

"Yes, but I'm fine." His voice did not sound like that of a man who was fine.

"You are most certainly not fine, and you are going to rest. Doctor's orders."

"You aren't my doctor," Draco snapped, not managing any real venom. 

Harry turned to look at the giggling mediwitch, "Does he need rest?"

"He does. Mr. Malfoy, let Mr. Potter help you," the mediwitch responded, backing Harry up. 

Draco grumbled something inaudible, so Harry helped him back to his flat, triumphant. Draco yawned, and wobbled a bit as he looked at the stairs dubiously. Harry, again preferring to be efficient, scooped Draco up bridal style and carried him up the stairs. Draco did protest at length, which Harry took as a good sign. When they reached the top landing, Draco jumped down from Harry's arms. 

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, shit, shit!" Draco whisper-yelled, pressing his fists to his temple.

"Draco, what is it?" asked Harry, all the worry immediately returning. 

Draco turned to him, two shades paler than normal if that was even physically possible, and said urgently, "You need to leave. Now."

"Draco what-"

"Leave, now, please go," Draco urged again, with a hint of sorrow in his mostly panicked tone. 

Harry nodded, hurt, which only served to make Draco look even more panicked, but he did as he was told and took a few steps down the staircase. However, Harry considered himself to be a good and careful friend, and he was never so good at doing what he was told, so he merely lurked in the shadows and watched as Draco approached the door of his flat, keys jangling from the quivering of his hands. As he made to push the door, it was pulled open from the other side. 

"Draco, where the fuck have you been?"

It was Artemis. Guilt immediately rose like bile in Harry's throat. When he'd called Draco the previous night, he'd completely forgotten that he had a boyfriend. He didn't know they lived together. 

Draco's normally perfect stature diminished under his boyfriend's anger, and the sight made Harry's heart ache. 

"I was at the office," Draco lied, though not smoothly like he usually did. 

"You were with Harry," said Artemis, throwing out the sentence like an insult. He was already a sore spot in the relationship, great. 

"Artemis, you know it's not like that," said Draco, worrying at his sleeves. 

"Do I, Draco? Do I?"

Harry was beginning to dislike this man. 

Draco whimpered, sending Artemis a pleading look. Harry's eavesdropping was cut off then by their front door closing. Harry stood on Draco's staircase for a moment more, thinking that he had overheard something that was definitely not for his ears. He hated that it seemed so ingrained in his nature to pry. Maybe he'd ask Draco tomorrow how he was doing. As he left the building, an odd thought struck him. Draco hadn't told Artemis that he'd been kidnapped. Surely that would have been the perfect excuse to dissolve any fight. Harry tried to shake it from his mind, this really was none of his business. No matter how hard he tried to not think about Draco, an uneasy feeling still remained. 

*~*~*~*~*

Draco did not come in to work that day. Harry supposed he was entitled to, as after all, he had just been kidnapped the previous day, but he usually sent Harry a note. After managing to contain himself for an hour, he checked with Celia.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, he sent an owl early this morning to inform his absence," she said, showing Harry the parchment. 

The note was very brief, but there was no mistaking Draco's perfect handwriting and loopy signature. Harry handed it back to Celia, looking slightly distracted, and thanked her. Harry returned to the office and shut the door, swiveling around in his desk chair. 

Why had Draco not sent him a note? He should have known Harry would worry. After several minutes of anxious pondering, the obvious answer floated to the forefront of his mind. He'd been fighting with Artemis about him, he wouldn't have sent Harry a note when he could have just sent one to their secretary. Somehow, this had Harry feeling even worse. 

Harry was forced to work with Fletchley that day on writing up the reports on the poisoner's arrest. The case had been highly publicised, what with the multiple homicides and an Auror being attacked, so in addition to sitting for hours with the dreaded DMLE people, he also had to dodge reporters asking for his statement. 

When he finally was alone, his office was the wrong kind of quiet without Draco around. It was a lonely quiet. He hoped Draco would come back the next day, and assumed that he would, because they were both workaholics, but Draco took three days off, and walked back in late on the fourth, looking decidedly blank.

"Draco, you alright?" Harry asked cautiously after he'd said good morning and Draco hadn't replied. 

Draco nodded. 

"You should be glad you missed the past couple days," Harry babbled into the silence of the cramped room, "It was all dealing with Fletchley and Skeeter and DMLE, you would have hated it even more than I did."

Draco only nodded again. 

Harry paused and let the silence stretch for an entire minute. "Draco, are you sure everything's alright?"

"Yes, Harry, everything is alright, would you just drop it?" he snapped, staring vaguely at some point on Harry's desk.

"Okay," said Harry, sounding hurt, "I'll drop it."

Draco looked like he'd regretted being rude to Harry, but he didn't say anything to correct it. He didn't even make eye contact for the entire day. Harry was dejected, but some part of him had expected as much when he'd heard Draco and Artemis arguing that night. 

The thing about Draco was that he was impossible to read when he wanted to be. Harry had been making progress at interpreting Draco's microexpressions, or Draco had been ever-so-slowly relaxing in Harry's presence, but right now his features were as blank as cursed books that would go completely blank when they didn't like the reader. What Harry didn't know was that Draco's blank look could be as telling as his scowl, merely from the complete lack of emotion that it carried. It is hardest to notice the absence of something, and Draco's blank look was the absense of spirit. 

For the next two weeks they worked, and Draco's dim disposition was contagious, because at only a few days into their lack of personal communication, Hermione was starting to get annoyed and concerned at Harry's worsening mood. (Hermione's annoyance and concern were often indistinguishable to the untrained eye, mostly because they usually coincided.)

Draco's current state also brought out Harry's similar tendency to isolate himself when he was in a bad mindset, so as a form of a small preemptive intervention Ron showed up at his house to drag him out for drinks. Harry was reluctant to go - and would have said no to anyone else - but he knew that his best friends always meant well, so he agreed.

Hermione tried to be more subtle with her Harry interventions, but Ron had never been one to beat around the bush, which Harry was glad for. Once they had beers in hand, he faced Harry and got straight to the point.

"Whatever is going on with you and Malfoy and your confusing and emotionally draining partnership is obviously sending you into some sort of spiral, so get on with it."

He had not been expecting Ron to go there so quickly, but he supposed that it was the only way that consistently got through to him. 

Harry took a long swig of his beer before responding. 

"Our partnership is fine," he began. 

"Save the bullshit with me," said Ron without anger. 

"I'm not bullshitting, you just interrupted," said Harry, "Professionally, everything seems to be going fine, but I thought we were becoming friends, except he sometimes just retreats back into himself with no warning, and I don't know what to do about it."

Ron nodded along for a few moment before appearing to have come to a conclusion. 

"Malfoy has some serious issues," he stated simply. 

"Ron, we all have some serious issues," said Harry.

"Yeah," said Ron, "That's a fair point, but I mean that Malfoy has issues, issues."

"That does not clarify anything at all."

"I mean that he has even more issues."

"Okay, I'll take that, but what issues? Does he have an issue with me?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know that? I'm just moral support."

They stared at each other for several seconds before they both started laughing. After a few more beers and stories from the joke shop, Harry did feel marginally better. His best friends did always know best. Ron bade him goodnight, and Harry went home, feeling a little lighter than he had in a while, and that was only partially to do with the alcohol. 

*~*~*~*~*

"Morning, Draco," said Harry on his way into the office a week after his drinks with Ron, (and yoga with Hermione, which was atrocious, visiting greenhouses with Neville, which was... humid, and hiking with Luna, which was... quite something.) Harry suspected Hermione had organized all these events in sequence when she suspected that Harry was going to fall into a depressive spiral - which he wasn't, thank you very much. He had to admit, his friends doing all this for him did improve his mood greatly, hence the cheery 'good morning' he'd issued to Draco. 

Draco did look taken aback, and possibly out of sheer surprise, said a "Good morning," back. 

Harry smiled, it had been a success. 

"New case," said Draco, switching immediately to work before there was any time for personal questions to get involved. 

Nothing was going to ruin Harry's rare cheer this morning, not even murder. Draco had said good morning to him, and that was enough to get him through the day. (Luna's hiking had also been two days prior, and Harry was not altogether sure that the effects of those strange plants had worn off completely yet.)

Harry began to theorize that Luna's plants were one of the main ingredients in felix felicis when they'd caught the killer that same day, (the idiot didn't wipe away the trace of the last spell he performed from his wand), and Draco offered to stay back to write the case reports. 

Harry positively beamed. 

They did not have to stay back too late, and it was nothing like their old takeaway days back in the tiny office, but Harry got a 'goodnight' as they left and the hopeful feeling that maybe things would be looking up from there. 

*~*~*~*~*

Draco wasn't sure what had possessed him to offer to stay back to finish the case reports with Harry. It might have been Harry's cheery 'Morning, Draco,' that brought back memories of the first months of working together, or it may have simply been the way that Draco's name rolled off Harry's tongue. Thinking back to how much had happened in less than a year of working together confused Draco. Harry had become such an integral part of Draco's life with him barely noticing it. How had he let that deteriorate so quickly? Even when they weren't friends, Draco still felt like Harry was in the back of his mind all the time, his very presence so tangible even when the two feet of space between their desks felt like a mile. 

Draco turned the key in the lock of his door, bumping it open with his hip as he held his wand in his mouth and a bag of Chinese food in his hand. He peered into the dim flat and closed the door behind him. He pulled his wand out of his mouth as he moved to put the food down on the coffee table and called out, "Hello?"

There was no response. He was alone. Relief washed over him, but as quickly as it had come, uneasiness followed. How fast had it switched from him being uneasy having someone in his house to being uneasy when he was alone? He tried to banish the thought from his mind and concentrate on eating and enjoying the quiet of the house. 

Hours went by and the food was cold, but Draco stayed on the couch, not liking the idea of going to sleep when he didn't know if Artemis would show up. A stray thought sprung across his mind, saying, "You could change the locks," and that alone had panic rising in his throat. Artemis would be furious about that, and how would Draco explain himself? What would be his reason for doing that? There was a reason, Draco knew, but he could not put it into words. The reason was a strong feeling like a pitch black wave that rolled slowly across his consciousness before ebbing away, leaving only a damp shore as a sign that it had ever been there. 

Artemis did return, at two in the morning, smelling strongly of booze.

"Where have you been?" Draco asked nervously from his spot on the couch. 

Artemis threw his jacket onto the back of a chair. "Out."

"Oh," said Draco in a small voice, unsure of what else he would reply to that. He certainly wasn't going to ask where he'd been. 

"Oh?" said Artemis, rounding on Draco, "I thought you'd be with your knight in shining armour." 

"My what now?" Draco asked, anger rising but still being contained to the small voice that seemed to be the only one he was capable of making. 

"Potter, the Saviour, the Chosen One, you knight in shining armour," Artemis spat, "Shouldn't you be out with him, saving the world?"

Draco stood. "I don't need a fucking knight in shining armour."

"You don't?" Artemis asked, "I got a very different impression two years ago." The wave returned, and Draco thought he might drown. 

His fists shook, from anxiety or rage he wasn't sure. Draco clutched his wand in his hand and summoned his cloak, storming over to the door. Artemis grabbed his wrist. 

"Where are you going?" He demanded. 

Draco shook his arm from the man's grasp. "Out." He snarled, slamming the door shut. He disapparated on the spot so Artemis couldn't catch him if he made to follow, but because of his split second decision to leave without any actual plan, Draco wasn't quite sure where he would show up. 

The answer was Harry Potter's front doorstep. 

Immediately recognizing his surroundings, Draco swore at himself and swiveled around, trying to steady himself in the dim orange glow of the streetlamps. A warm yellow light came from a door opening behind him, and before he could hear Harry finish saying his name in a baffled tone, he disapparated again. 

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" He whispered to himself, voice coming out much raspier than usual. He realized by a warm feeling on his cheek a moment later that it was because he was crying. He looked up and blinked the tears away, needing to figure out where his subconscious had taken him this time. He was behind the clock face of Big Ben, judging by the view past the enormous gears. He didn't have the energy to question why he'd brought himself here, so instead he just sat and cried. He cried until his throat ached and his gloves were damp from his useless attempts to wipe away his tears. He took several steadying breaths and made to get up before he realized that this would mean going home. 

He didn't want to go home. The black wave rushed up again, its tides whispering to Draco that that place wasn't his home anymore. Where else was he to go? He settled on going nowhere. He stood in the clocktower for a few more hours, watching the sun rise over the Thames. The sight really was beautiful, and the poetic side of him tried to cling to the thought that the warm sun had dried some of his tears. Of course, that was ridiculous, but it was comforting nonetheless. 

He bought breakfast at a muggle shop he remembered Harry mentioning, (luckily the coat he'd grabbed last night was a long, black, muggle style one, so he didn't look too out of place,) then apparated back to the clock tower to eat it, as he didn't really know of any better place to be alone in London when everyone was on their way to work. He was supposed to be on his way to work soon. He found that he didn't really care about the idea of being late. Maybe he would sit in a muggle coffee shop for a while before he went in to the office. He liked that idea, so that was exactly what he did. 

He picked the coziest one he saw, ordered a very convoluted hot chocolate, then sat at a table in the back. This is quite enjoyable, he thought, I understand now why the muggles love these places so much. When it was pushing ten o'clock, and he'd finished his very large hot chocolate, he supposed he ought to go to work. Harry would be very worried. 

Harry.

He completely forgot about Harry. Forgetting that he was in a muggle establishment, he disapparated right there. Luckily he was sitting in the back, so likely no one saw him. He stepped out of a Ministry fireplace, and with very self-assured strides that came out of nowhere compared to the state he'd been in all night, he went straight up to the Auror floor and into his and Harry's office without a single thought. 

"Draco," said Harry, in the same tone of surprise from two a.m. when Draco'd promptly appeared then disappeared from his doorstep. 

Draco said nothing, as was his usual M.O., and threw his coat over his desk chair. 

"Draco-" said Harry softly, obviously completely unsure how to broach this topic, "Last night, was that you?"

"That was a mistake," said Draco, "Went to the wrong place. Can we forget about it?"

Harry nodded and went quiet again. Within another minute, he spoke up. 

"Draco?"

Draco sighed, "I thought you agreed not to mention it."

"No-" said Harry, sounding confused again, "Draco, you're not wearing your uniform."

Draco looked down at himself, and indeed, Harry had been correct. Draco was not wearing his red Auror robes. He didn't really have a plan when he stormed out of his flat the previous night, who could blame him?

"Oh," said Draco, "You're quite right."

Harry looked almost apprehensive in his concern for Draco's erratic behaviour. If only he knew the true extent of how erratic Draco had been in the past eight hours. 

"Draco, are you okay?" Harry asked tentatively. 

"You know what," said Draco, making full eye contact with Harry for the first time in a very long while, "I am probably not."

Harry blinked at him. Draco might not have blinked at all. 

"I'm feeling unwell, if Robards asks. Could you cover for me?" Asked Draco, standing up and putting on his coat after being in the office for no more than five minutes.

"Sure," said Harry distractedly. 

Draco nodded curtly to his partner, then left. 

Harry was feeling rather shocked, and for a man who'd been through as much as he had, that was quite an achievement. 

*~*~*~*~*

Draco apparated back to his flat. Again, he was not sure why, but it seemed that he had squeezed a year's worth of wandering and impulsiveness into half a day for no other reason than having absolutely nothing and everything else to do at that precise moment. There was probably a philosophical question that could be posed about that, but Draco had never cared much for philosophy. His mother had always said that there was no point to question for questioning's sake when all it would get you was a few migraines and no more insight into humanity's nature than you could find from a false psychic's distasteful tea leaves. Come to think of it, Draco's mother had enough pieces of wisdom that she could have formed some anti-philosophical debate if she had wanted to. Perhaps that was the cyclical nature of life at work once again. 

He opened the door, and there was Artemis, fuming once again at the sight of Draco's face reappearing in the flat. 

"Went to see Potter?" Artemis accused. 

Draco had, which made him sick to his stomach to think that he had done exactly what Artemis had told him to do, but he hadn't stayed so maybe it didn't count. 

"No," Draco lied. 

"Bullshit," said Artemis, taking a step closer to Draco. He had a very looming figure. Draco did not like that. 

Draco backtracked, "Well of course I saw him, I had to tell work that I wasn't coming in today."

He turned his back on Artemis to hang up his coat before his eyes could bore holes straight through Draco's weak skirting of the truth. 

"So what are you doing today, then?" asked Artemis, still looming. Draco was unsure of whether the looming was intentional or merely a product of Draco's worry and Artemis' large stature. 

"I don't know," said Draco truthfully. 

It turned out that what Draco was doing that day - and the following seven days - was a lot of yelling and being yelled at. Sometimes it was punctuated by work, or Artemis' long, purposeful silences, but it was really just a lot of yelling about the same things over and over. It was always the same things, it had been for two years. Cyclical. Narcissa Malfoy would disapprove of her son's sudden fixation with the philosophical analysis of his life. Maybe it was because he wanted to distract himself by turning it into something bigger and out of his control, or maybe he needed it to have reason. Why did he let himself be dragged into the same repetition of destructive circles? Did he not act out of fear, or out of a lack of energy to change anything?

He brought up the fact to Artemis in one of their shouting matches that they always followed the same destructive patterns, and Artemis had laughed. His mother must have had a point about philosophy. Artemis then threw back at him that it was Draco's fluctuating emotions, it was Draco's fault for turning things sour, it was Artemis who kept trying to fix what they had, that he was the only good thing for Draco. Draco supposed he must have good logic behind this, because wasn't it Draco who felt like he didn't love Artemis properly? Wasn't it Draco who only a few days ago been so reckless and random in his actions in the middle of the night? 

A small voice yelled from somewhere far away in Draco's head that Artemis was also the one whose emotions changed at the drop of a hat. Draco clutched that voice and tried to pull it closer, but it got lost in the tidal wave that swept over again when Artemis started yelling the next time. 

Draco was beginning to get very tired, and his voice was also strained. Harry noticed this one day at the end of the screaming week, and brought him a honey potion for sore throats. The soft smile that graced his face when he handed Draco the potion nearly caused Draco to burst into tears. (When he was angry, he often cried as well, which was not good at all during screaming week.)

That night, when Draco walked into the flat, it was quiet. His throat was better, and when Artemis greeted him, it was normal. They ate dinner. Things seemed to be okay. They both sat on the couch and read, it was almost peaceful. Then Draco's cell phone buzzed, and the proverbial silence was broken. 

It was Harry, God bless his kind soul, asking him if his throat was feeling any better. 

Artemis was reading over his shoulder, and saw the smile flit across Draco's face at Harry's kind message. The yelling began again. The further they got into it, the quieter Draco became until the arguing had transformed into arguing over the fact that Draco wasn't arguing, wasn't listening, wasn't trying, wasn't doing so many things. Artemis was yelling, and the sound was so frequent now that his brain made the executive decision to tune it out entirely. Draco stared at his face - prepared to deal with this for another few days before things smoothed over again - when he remembered the taste of the honey potion from that morning.

It had tasted so sweet, and the feeling of it instantly soothing his throat had been so lovely after days of yelling. Then all he could see was Harry's soft smile. He thought of Harry's laugh, and of how they shared takeout and office gossip. He thought of that night so long ago in the bar with Harry's side pressed against his own, the warmth of his solid form next to him and the chill of the glass in his hand. He realized that it had been two years since Artemis had made him feel that way. He realized that all he wanted to do in that moment was hug Harry again like they had in the snow months ago. 

In a dreamlike state, Draco walked away from Artemis who was in the middle of yelling and into his bedroom. With Artemis' distant shout of 'what the fuck' passing through his mind idly, he grabbed his trunk and cast a charm to have all his clothes swoop into it at once. That was really all he needed, he thought, because he would never keep the irreplaceable books in his flat. Artemis walked in and was yelling, asking him what the fuck he thought he was doing, and as somehow Draco had transcended into a peaceful - or possibly just dissociative state, one could never tell - Draco looked at him straight in the face and said, "I'm going."

"Going where? You have nowhere to go!"

Draco simply levitated his trunk through the bedroom door and out into the lounge, Artemis trailing him still yelling his name. He grabbed Draco's arm, hard, and pulled him back. Draco turned and his eyes suddenly filled with all the rage he hadn't felt for two years. 

"Let go of me, Artemis," he said warningly. 

Artemis did not let go. 

There was a blast of magic, a blast so strong and not of any charm or conscious magic Draco knew, and Artemis was thrown back, clutching the hand that had had Draco's wrist in a vice-like grip a moment before. His hand was shaking violently, and had been either burned or broken or a combination of the two. He looked at Draco, and there was a confused and shocked fear that accompanied the anger there, and Draco would be lying if he said that he didn't feel a little bit of satisfaction. Artemis was just a guy, a very shitty guy, but he could be hurt. Draco wasn't his anymore. 

Draco turned on his heel and left. 

It was a dramatic and triumphant exit, even if afterwards he realized that he did indeed have nowhere to go, and broke out into a panic attack when he went to the only place he thought of - the clock tower - because he'd done it. He'd left. The thought of that was absolutely terrifying, but what mattered was that he had really done it. 

The thought of staying in a hotel hadn't occurred to him, apparently, because he spent that night nestled behind the gears of the clock on a transfigured one of his winter jackets. He cast some spells around the place to make it more comfortable, but it was a surprisingly nice spot to begin with. The aesthetic of it appealed to him, and being in a place that everyone saw but no one knew made him feel safe. He fell asleep to the sound of the huge gears turning, and had one of the most truly restful nights he'd had in a long time. 

He supposed the next morning when dealing with the dilemma of where to put his trunk when he went to work that he should probably not be taking up residence in a national monument and tourist attraction. And how safe was it? Draco had known how to find it during one of his worst mental states, so what was to say that someone else couldn't find it just as easily? 

He settled for putting a disillusionment charm on it and lugging it into a corner, deciding that he would come by after work to grab it and find a more permanent solution. He didn't want to bring it into the office - which he certainly could have done, and had the whole situation be less ridiculous - but that would mean that Harry would ask questions, and Draco was not sure that he was prepared to answer them. The only thing he was prepared to do at this moment was work, and hopefully repair his friendship with Harry. It probably would not be easy, but Draco was determined.

With a flourish of his wand he smoothed out his Auror robes. He winced when he lifted his right arm straighten his collar, and pulled back his sleeve to find the source of the problem, very confused as to what could be causing this.

Slowly as to not hurt his skin further, (he gathered that it must be his forearm that was hurting, not unlike the pain of being burned), he rolled up the sleeve of his robes. The sight made his stomach drop to the approximate height of the muggles on the street far below the huge clock face. Wrapped around his arm like a vice was a dark burn mark the exact shape of Artemis' hand. Draco looked away for a moment - many moments - to collect himself, then glanced back at the burn on his arm to verify that it was not a hallucination caused by stress. It was not. 

It must have come from the explosion of magic that broke Artemis' hand when he wouldn't let go of Draco, because none of Draco's healing charms could budge it. He could go to St. Mungo's, but they'd ask him how it happened, and he really wasn't sure how he did it. If he went, Artemis might be able to find out, was he Draco's emergency contact person? He really didn't remember who he'd put down when he entered Auror training. The timing would line up. Now was not the time to deal with that. The burn would heal on its own eventually. It made him sick to think that that bastard would leave a scar on Draco the day he left, but there was nothing to be done about that now. He cast some pain relievers and disapparated. 

*~*~*~*~*

Draco's behaviour this past week had baffled Harry more than it ever had before, and he now was genuinely concerned for his sanity. As he only had half the facts - probably less than half the facts - that was how Draco's behaviour appeared. Harry did not know that Draco was sane, or as sane as he could be given the current state of his life and living situation, and he had learned to expect the unexpected where his partner was concerned. 

Sure enough, his expectations of being surprised were correct that morning when he walked into the office very early to see Draco already sitting pristinely behind his desk, his back as straight as a ruler. Draco was the first one to greet him, and Harry almost let himself be taken by surprise, as he had not expected a shift in behaviour this large. 

"Morning," Draco said softly, coming out as more of a statement than a greeting, but Harry took it without question anyways. 

"Morning," said Harry tentatively, not fully believing that this cordial and borderline friendly Draco in his office was not merely an illusion, "Do we have a case?"

"Not yet," said Draco.

Harry nodded, and they fell into silence. Harry may have been deluding himself, but it felt more akin to the silences they'd shared before everything went to shit. 

Speaking of everything going to shit, the door to their office flew open a moment later, and Robards stepped in for only a moment and barked, "Potter, Malfoy, with me." With that, the Head Auror left and Harry and Draco jumped up. 

"That must mean a case," said Harry, walking out the door. 

"Either that or we're getting fired," said Draco in a completely serious tone. 

Harry froze and looked over at him. Since when are we getting fired?

"Relax," said Draco, walking past Harry's shocked form to follow Robards, "I'm just messing with you."

Relief flooded over Harry. Not only were they not getting fired, Draco was joking, and with him, of all people. Harry had to half jog to catch up to Draco across the office, and tried not to look too giddy as they caught up with Robards. When their moment of joking was over, they both looked around and saw that the entire Auror floor seemed to be running around frantically, trying to order people around and do five things at once. 

"What's happened, sir?" Asked Draco, not knowing where they were following Robards too. 

"Body hung from an arch in Trafalgar Square," said Robards curtly. 

Harry and Draco shared an astonished look behind Robards' back before he turned to glare at them before they left the Auror floor. 

"Why us, sir?" Harry asked, trying not to fidget under the Auror's stern gaze. He was incapable of looking at anything without it being a glare. 

"You are in the homicide division, are you not?" asked Robards. Neither Harry nor Draco were quite sure if this was supposed to be a rhetorical question, so they simply nodded. "You're the best team in the division," Robards continued, "Though you've been a little off your game recently. Your work hasn't suffered, but this is an extremely high profile case, are you up to it?"

Harry and Draco uttered 'yes sir's in unison, and with that and a grim nod, Robards led them through the Ministry to the fireplaces, giving them the details of the case as they went. 

"Body was found by muggles twenty minutes ago, hanging in mid-air without any rope. We've already dispatched obliviators to modify the memories of the muggles who've seen it, and there's another team already there to keep away the muggles and their press. Medical Examiner's already on the scene, and we need to wrap this up quickly. The cover up for this one is going to be a nightmare."

Harry and Draco nodded along, trying to contain their nerves. This was a huge case, and they were being trusted with it. Normally this would go to more seasoned Aurors, but the department was lacking in them after the war. Harry had a feeling like he was being let off his training wheels with this one. He could sense from Draco's purposefully very even breathing that he thought so too. 

"You're in charge on this one," said Robards, sounding like he slightly regretted the idea, "So don't screw it up."

With those parting words of encouragement, Harry and Draco stepped into the fireplaces and appeared in the centre of Trafalgar Square. It took them only a second to swivel around and locate the crime scene, and when they did, they immediately snapped into work mode. 

With long strides they crossed the square to where the crowd of witches and wizards in varying colours of uniforms buzzed around, charming and examining and... was that a camera?

Draco and Harry had noticed her at the same time, and with a meaningful look, they both jogged over to Rita Skeeter. 

Harry grabbed the camera right out of the photographer's hands and ripped out the film without a word. 

Rita Skeeter began to protest, but when her eyes landed on Harry's face, she carefully crafted her outrage into flattery. 

"Why Harry, dear, it's good to see you. Why have you destroyed my photographs? I'm just trying to do my job," she batted her eyelashes. Harry had been dealing with her long enough to immediately get annoyed with her bullshit. 

"And I'm doing mine," he said plainly, handing the film over to a rookie Auror who was passing, instructing him to destroy it. 

"You there," said Draco, pointing at the Auror who had been in charge before they got there, "Push the perimeter back to the edge of the square, and get these two out of here!" 

The man nodded and ushered the protesting reporter away, much to Harry's satisfaction. 

"I want warding up all around the square until I give the all clear," Harry called, "And don't let in any more reporters! This case is going to be published enough as it is."

The various witches and wizards nodded, fanning out to continue their charm work. 

Draco looked at Harry and nodded in approval. Harry stared back, lifting his head higher. They both set to work. 

They reached the body, and it was quite a disturbing sight. 

It really was hanging in mid air, slowly rotating in the centre of the archway as if it were on display. What kind of sick person could have done this? The body turned still so it now faced him, and Harry saw with a twang of sadness that he looked about their age, only in his early twenties. They paused for only a second to brace themselves against the horrific sight, then approached the Medical Examiner. 

"What do we know?" Harry asked, determined to keep an objective eye. 

The ME pointed at the body only a few feet above them. "Cause of death is the killing curse, and the only other injury appears to be a broken hand."

"Broken hand?" Draco asked, squinting to observe the corpse's hand, "It looks fine from here."

"The bones broke from internal trauma. We see this with some forms of primitive curses," the witch explained. 

"Anything else?" Harry asked. The killing curse and a broken hand was not much to go on. 

"We haven't been able to examine the body fully as it's still hanging up there. We wanted to wait for you two until we took it down."

"Thank you," said Draco, stepping closer to examine the charm. 

His foot crossed some sort of invisible barrier - Harry noticed a second before Draco did - and the spell suspending the body in the air broke. It went completely limp and began to fall, but Harry cast a Finite Incantatem at the last second, running forward to where Draco stood, slightly stunned. 

"Thanks, Harry," said Draco calmly as if Harry had just caught a inkwell before it toppled to the floor, and squatted down to inspect the corpse. 

Harry shook his head at his partner's ability to completely compartmentalize, and pulled out a notepad to record Draco's rambling of observations that was set to begin at any second now. 

Before they could fall into their routine, the charms expert came over to them. 

"How did you get the body down?" She asked.

Draco looked up at her, "It just broke when I got close enough, must have been a proximity thing, set to break once someone walks into the right radius," he said, turning back immediately to what he was doing, no doubt in his mind that this was the right explanation. 

"Well..." said the witch, wringing her hands, "We got as close as you did, and nothing happened."

Draco turned again, slowly. "It must have been timed then."

"Unlikely," said Harry, "It happened too perfectly when you stepped closer."

"Then it was waiting for an Auror," said Draco with a tone of finality. This did seem to be the most likely explanation, and when Draco said nothing further, the witch looked to Harry to ask if she was needed. Draco was completely absorbed in the case now, so Harry thanked her for her help and dismissed her. 

"Draco, what do you see so far?" Harry asked softly, not wanting to break his partner's concentration. 

"The hand is broken - from the inside was right, that's why it looks relatively normal from the outside, the bones just split - and there appear to be no other injuries--" Draco broke off his sentence, leaning over to the corpse's right side.

"There's something under his cuff," said Harry, but of course Draco was already pulling back the sleeve.

Harry gasped when he saw it. The mark of a hand was burned into the wrist, shaped like it had been gripping the man tightly. 

Draco dropped the sleeve back and stood up suddenly, looking a bit green. 

"Draco?" Harry asked, walking over to him. Draco took several steps away from the body, but never tore his eyes away from the tiny edge of the burn peeking out from under the man's sleeve. 

Harry came closer and strategically placed himself between Draco and the forensic team, blocking him from view. 

"Draco," Harry said quietly but forcefully, "What is it?"

Draco did not look at Harry. His eyes travelled from the man's wrist up to his face, and Draco's complexion slowly began to match that of their victim's. 

"What are you not telling me?" Harry asked, though he knew that the full answer to that question would encompass their entire relationship and take several days to tell. 

Draco did not answer, but he did seem to take back some semblance of control over his mental faculties. He walked briskly past Harry to address the other employees at the scene. "Log all the injuries and any other charms or evidence in the surrounding area, and look up his wand to get me a name!" he said in his most authoritative voice. There were various nods and scribbled notes, but Draco didn't stop to get any acknowledgement from them. He simply turned back around and grabbed Harry's arm, apparating them directly back to their office with no warning. 

The second their feet hit the dark paneled flooring, Draco started pacing. It was not thoughtful pacing that usually accompanied a difficult case, it was manic pacing. 

Harry was experiencing a wild array of emotions: chiefly shock, confusion, exasperation, and concern. He had thought this morning that he had Draco back, but he now amended that thought to be 'maybe this semblance of normalcy was the final nail in the coffin that was his sane relationship with Draco Malfoy and one of the few glimpses he had had at a stable life'. 

Draco's emotions, if possible, were even more of a mess. He had shifted, in the course of one day, from rage to terror to loneliness to hope to uncertainty to pain to paranoia, and finally now to cumulative franticness and panic. He paced. He ran his hands through his hair. He trembled. He cursed. He collapsed onto the floor and put his head in his hands, trying to grasp some control over his racing thoughts. Draco had completely forgotten that Harry was even there - his mind was racing a mile a minute now and Draco had never been a good sprinter - so he sat on that office floor with his arms around his knees, and positively fell apart. It was inevitable. 

Poor Harry had no idea what to make of this situation. In trying to guess some possible conclusion, he supposed that Draco may have known the victim, but no, he would have told Harry, and would have realized it the moment he saw the man's face. Perhaps this mental breakdown was unrelated to the case entirely, and was simply a very long time bomb's fuse finally running out. Either way, Harry knew it was his duty to try to comfort Draco, even if it was futile. Harry knelt down next to Draco on the floor, and thinking it may not be wise to touch him at this moment said in  a very quiet and gentle tone, (as if he were addressing a real time bomb whom he cared for very much), "Draco, what's wrong?"

Harry mentally kicked himself when all this expression of concern did was to cause Draco to begin sobbing. 

Draco recognized the tone Harry used. It was pity. Draco could handle disgust and he could handle hatred, but the thing that he hated the most was being subject to other's pity. Pity meant that you were weak, and weakness was what Draco had been working his whole life to avoid. Even if Harry's intentions were noble and came from a place of kindness, his words made Draco realize that he was weak. He would pity himself.

Draco tried for a snarling retort of, "I don't need your fucking pity," but it came out as another sob. How could he have been so stupid? Did he think leaving Artemis would have no consequences? Did he think he could just slip back into his easy banter with Harry and pretend that the months of that awful rift between them had never happened? Did he think that Harry could just accept how badly Draco had treated him, and how much he ignored him despite the fact that they were partners, and even friends? Did he really delude himself into thinking that he was worth the gentle care and pain in Harry's voice? Did he let himself fall into believing that he didn't just bring pain and ruin to everyone around him?

Harry, having gathered his courage and decided there was nothing else to be done when Draco started sobbing, laid a reassuring hand on his back. Draco tensed for a moment, then began to sob even harder. Draco was utterly humiliated by his outburst of emotion, but all he seemed to be capable of at the moment was sobbing, so there was nothing to be done about that. He didn't really know why he was sobbing, exactly, he just was. 

Harry rubbed slow circles between Draco's shoulder blades, and he waited until Draco's crying had slowed and finally stopped. When it did, Harry continued rubbing Draco's back soothingly, fearing that if he removed his hand, Draco would break out into tears again. 

"Sorry," said Draco, voice wrecked, "I don't quite know what got into me." He dried his face with his sleeves and coughed, trying to regain his composure, which had probably boarded a plane to Peru by now. 

"It's okay," said Harry, trying to dial back the obvious concern in his voice, "Can you tell me what happened?" He asked, hoping for a better result than earlier. 

Draco gulped. He wanted to explain, he really did, but he was not sure if he was physically or mentally able at this moment. Instead, he simply looked away from Harry and rolled back his right sleeve, offering his arm for Harry to inspect. He didn't need to see Harry's face to know the expression that must be there. What he didn't expect was the undertone of fierce protection in Harry's next words. 

"Who did this to you?" He said very quietly, and very seriously. 

"I did," said Draco blankly, "Well, sort of." Harry left a pause for him to explain. He did, as much as his brain could process. "Accidental magic."

"And the victim...?" Asked Harry. 

"I think..." Draco began, terrified to turn his suspicions into a statement for fear of it being true, "I think he's a message."

"To who? To you?"

Draco nodded and looked down at a splinter in the floor. 

"What is the message?"

"I'm not sure," said Draco to the floor, "Nothing good."

Harry waited for a moment more, presumably to see if Draco would look up from the floor. (He did not.) 

"Do you know who sent the message?" Harry asked, already guessing Draco's answer, but needing confirmation nonetheless. 

Draco nodded again. 

"Do you think they want to hurt you?"

"I think so."

"Have they hurt you before?"

Draco was silent again, and his answer came out as barely more than a whisper. "I think so."

"Who is it, Draco? Who caused that burn on your arm?"

Draco shook his head. He wanted to answer, but his tongue couldn't form the word. Harry waited another few moments before prompting Draco again. Draco's fingers curled into fists, and he closed his eyes, focusing on the sting of pain of his nails digging into his palm. He wanted the name to exit his mouth like venom, he wanted contempt, he wanted himself to be cold and detached, but when he said "Artemis," it came out as gently as a raindrop rolling off a leaf, and was embedded with all the sorrow of the great tragic romances.

Harry's hand left Draco's back, and he said something to him, but Draco couldn't register it, for his heart was slowly descending to somewhere around his navel, and all he could feel was the slamming of the office door reverberating beneath his fists on the floor. 

He did not know how long he sat on that floor, but he did know that he did not open his eyes once, and that his joints were beginning to get stiff, but he still did not move. Harry had probably gone to find Artemis. Draco should have warned him not to, he should have told him more of the story, but he was paralyzed. Harry didn't have any proof to go on besides Draco's tearful word, and yet he had rushed off immediately the second Draco said that he had hurt him. Harry was ridiculously loyal, and Draco thanked all the gods he didn't believe in for allowing this wonderful boy to be part of his life. 

The longer he waited, the more worried he became for Harry's safety. Artemis was dangerous. How could Draco have let Harry leave so underinformed? Artemis had just killed a man and left him suspended in Trafalgar Square. Worry twisted his gut, and no matter how many times he reminded himself that Harry was a homicide detective, he dealt with this all the time, he still worried yet more. The silence of the office began to press in on him. As he slowly pulled himself back to reality, he began to hear the sounds of movement outside their tiny office, and felt so very isolated from everyone else. He had been isolated for a long time, but now as he was here alone, it pressed into him more than it ever had. He didn't really have friends, aside from Harry, and Pansy and Blaise who lived abroad. When was the last time he'd wrote to them? He could not remember. 

He should get up. He should find Harry and help, this was his case too after all. But getting up would mean seeing Artemis. He didn't think he could do that. He was a coward. He always had been, at school and during the war. He was a coward then and he was a coward now, and one day it would cost even more lives. It had cost the life of the young man, hanged in a public square. It may have even cost Draco his own. He was still alive, but had only mere tatters of a life that seemed to always be slipping from his hands the more he tried to hold them together. 

The door banged open, and Draco shot up, heart beating in his throat. 

"Sorry," said Harry, Harry, shutting the door after the influx of noise that rushed through at his entrance, "I took Artemis in for questioning. He came without complaint."

Of course he came in without a fight, thought Draco, He hung the body in the square to be seen. This was all a game, and the next move was Harry. He must have known I would never come myself, so now he's dragged Harry into this mess too.

Draco simply stared at Harry, trying to anchor himself to this reality somehow by reminding himself of the exact shade of his irises. His two words colliding seemed to be breaking everything apart, but Harry's eyes were still the same vibrant green, so at least some things were okay. 

"What do I ask him? I highly doubt he will just sign a confession."

Draco knew this part had been coming. He hadn't noticed, but when he was having his mental break on the floor, his subconscious had planned for this. 

Draco grabbed a piece of parchment from Harry's cluttered desk, and wrote down every clue he could remember to tie Artemis to the crime. He handed it over silently to Harry, who thankfully did not comment on the shaky state of the handwriting. His eyes travelled down the page, then once he was finished, up to meet Draco's eyes again. 

"Are you coming to help me question him? You are most of our proof here."

Draco shook his head. "I can't lie to him, Harry," he said, clutching Harry's hand because his own was trembling so badly. "I can't lie to him."

Harry nodded, accepting but not fully understanding. 

"Do you want to stand behind the glass?"

Draco contemplated this. This would mean seeing Artemis. He would be seeing him through a one way mirror reinforced by decades of Aurors, but the thought still sent his nervous system into distress. He didn't know he'd made a decision until he felt himself nodding. Harry gave him a flicker of a proud smile, and straightened out his robes for him. They exchanged silent nods, Draco shook out his fists, and they made their way across the Auror floor amid many curious and excited stares. Harry took his place in the interrogation chamber, and Draco forced himself to walk smoothly into the dim observation room. Harry had purposefully sat Artemis so his back would be facing Draco. He felt a swell of gratitude and affection for his partner. He would have also been flattered by how much badly concealed contempt Harry had for this man he did not know, just because he had harmed his friend. He was a Gryffindor through and through, but that fierce loyalty and willingness to legitimately fight for those you care about was also a strongly Slytherin trait. The pair of them had that in common, only Draco rarely seemed to remember to fight for himself where Artemis was concerned. 

Harry began interrogating Artemis with the questions Draco had given him, and he did not hold back from completely ripping into the man. Draco was quite enjoying the show. At the beginning, Artemis was playing innocent, because he had orchestrated this whole thing to get back at Draco, and it had gotten him where he wanted to be: alone in a room with Harry. 

After only a few minutes, Harry went straight for the knockout punch.

"You killed an innocent man in order to intimidate and threaten an Auror, someone whom you treated terribly and took advantage of in the past, simply because you couldn't handle the rejection that you deserve."

Artemis seemed surprised by this direct approach, as that was not the usual wizarding way, and of course, Artemis was a powerful wizard who had had much respect and ass-kissing in the past. He obviously did not know Harry, and it gave Draco so much satisfaction to watch Artemis' awkward and affronted body language as he tried to cope with the fact that this was not going according to his plan. Harry was not cooperating. He tried to flip the situation, rather childishly. 

"Are you not just as likely to be the killer?" He asked, "Perhaps sending a message to me? You must have been jealous of my relationship with Draco."

Harry scoffed, then laughed, and his laugh was merciless. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table between him and Artemis, and spoke so smoothly the words he knew would rip Artemis' feeble argument to shreds. 

"I would never kill someone to send a message to anyone, and I certainly wouldn't need to to send a message to you. I think you know your place, and if you don't, you're an even bigger idiot than I could ever imagine. You and Draco never had a relationship. You are a cruel man, and you will never understand true love, because no one could ever love someone as vile as you. Draco was very clear in never wanting to see you again, and once you're sentenced to life in prison, no one ever will." Harry stood up, "When you're in Azkaban, you will think every day about everything you've done wrong, everyone you've ever hurt, and you will know that you are paying for it."

Harry turned with a swish of his cloak to leave the room, and at the same time as his back was to Artemis, he swiveled in his chair and stared directly at the one way mirror, and to Draco behind. Draco stared at Artemis, only a few feet away from him. He forced his breathing to remain even. They were separated by this wall; Artemis could not see him. Draco made a pact with himself in that moment, as he looked at that man's smirking face. He never again would let himself be treated like Artemis treated him. He would never again let someone else control his life. He'd done it too many times before. Now was his turn to decide his fate. 

Then, Artemis spoke, and both Harry and Draco froze on their spots, Harry with his hand on the doorknob, and Draco with his hand on the one-way glass. He said his next words to a spot close to Draco's left eyebrow, though he could not see it as such. "You have no proof to put me away, you have only suspicions made by some Death Eater faggot. No one will ever believe it." It was a knife through Draco's chest. It was fire in Harry's throat.

Within a split second of that horrid word crossing Artemis' lips, Harry strode across the room and slammed the back of Artemis' chair into the wall, grabbing him by his throat. Draco reacted instinctively, running out and around the hall into the interrogation room. Artemis' eyes found his, but Draco ignored the unsteady rush of his blood in his ears and grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him away from Artemis. Harry's chest was rising and falling rapidly, and the rage in his face was no longer concealed. Draco held tightly to Harry's arm, trying to will him to calm down as he glared at Artemis with unadulterated hatred. 

Artemis fixed the collar of his shirt. "That was very unprofessional, I'll press charges."

Draco looked at Artemis with similar fire to Harry's, except his was ice cold and calculated like his mother had always taught him. "He's the Chosen One, no one will ever believe it," he said with perfectly articulated Malfoy venom.

Draco pulled the still fuming Harry out of the interrogation room, and locked the door behind them. 

"We can hold him for a few more hours, but we need real evidence before then or we'll have to let him go."

Harry was completely distracted and still ablaze with rage, so it took several seconds for his attention to latch back onto Draco. "What?" He asked, "You're seriously thinking about procedure right now? After what he said?"

"I have to," said Draco, "What else am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know," said Harry, "Want to kill him like I do? Want to pound his face into a wall?"

"Now that would just land us all in prison."

"He deserves it."

Silence from Draco. 

"Draco," said Harry, lowering his voice and grabbing Draco's hand, "He deserves it." Draco looked at their interlocked fingers. "What he said was not true."

"My left forearm and society would beg to differ."

With his free hand, Harry lightly touched Draco's chin and guided his face back up so he could meet Harry's sincere gaze. "What he said was not true."

"Okay," said Draco. Harry's hand was still tucked under Draco's chin, resting feather light to make sure Draco didn't look down again. 

"Okay," said Harry. "Now we throw this bastard in prison to rot for the rest of his miserable life."

"I like that plan."

It turned out that that plan was easier said than done. 

Every piece of evidence they had was circumstantial at best. All they had to prove his guilt was Draco's testimony, and the wizarding world hadn't let go of their grudges against him yet. On the flip side, Artemis was from another pure blood family that hadn't been scorned in the war. He had money and influence, and no one would believe that he was guilty unless they had concrete proof. 

"Does it get to a point where you have so much circumstantial evidence that it has to be worth something?" Asked Draco frustratedly. 

Harry leaned back in his squeaky desk chair and sighed, "I wish. Anything new?"

"The victim's middle name meant 'dragon'," said Draco ruefully. 

Harry shot up straight again. "Surely that can count for something?" He said hopefully.

"Already thought through that. It could prove that the killer was sending a message to me, but it doesn't prove that it was him who did it," said Draco plainly, throwing his notes down on his desk. "Harry, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know, Draco, I don't know," said Harry softly. Silence blanketed them as they racked their brains for the hundredth time, trying to find something that they had missed. Artemis had had no connection to the victim, and had chosen him only to scare Draco. Harry had asked him an hour ago if he was sure that it was Artemis, and Draco had replied that he was sure; he became more and more sure the more he contemplated their lack of evidence. 

"I'm going to go ask Hermione for help, she knows people on the DMLE floor, I'll see what I can dig up," said Harry, rising from his chair. "Are you okay here for a bit?"

Draco nodded, knowing that Harry got restless when he was frustrated. He wasn't so weak that he couldn't last fifteen minutes alone. They had another hour of Artemis being locked up in a magically reinforced room. The Auror interrogation rooms had contained Death Eaters, they could last through Artemis. 

Somehow, not even that fact could provide Draco a sense of safety. 

Harry gave Draco a comforting nod before he left the office in search of Hermione. He received many stares in the lift, though that wasn't unusual, but he felt more uneasy under them today. He was thankful that the DMLE floor was close, and left the lift as quickly as he could, attributing the sick feeling in his stomach to his claustrophobia. 

Harry rapped his knuckles in quick succession on Hermione's door, then went in before he got an answer. Hermione looked up from her desk, hair extremely bushy, and greeted him with a smile. 

"Hullo Harry, need something?"

So, she'd been holed up in her office and hadn't heard the news yet. Harry had expected this. He took a seat.

"There's been a murder."

"Well, that is your job," she said initially, not yet having fully torn her mind from her work. Then, Harry's serious tone registered in her mind. "It isn't someone we know, is it?"

"No, no," Harry reassured. "Body hanged in Trafalgar Square."

"My God, that's awful. Do you have any clues yet?"

"Well, we know who did it, we just can't prove it."

This piqued her interest. Her eyebrows shot up, and she went directly into business mode. "How can that be?"

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his already wild hair. He wasn't sure how much he could tell her, not wanting to say more than he ought to. It was Draco's life tied to this. "The victim had identical injuries to Draco."

"Harry, what do you mean, 'identical injuries to Draco'?"

Harry handed her the file, now complete with a picture of the hand-shaped burn mark. Hermione's eyes darkened as she scanned the other images of the crime scene. 

"So someone assaulted Draco, and then this man showed up dead?" She asked, very confused but still trying to be helpful. She knew Harry wasn't telling her everything. 

Harry nodded. "We don't have enough evidence to convict, but we know that the murder was a threat."

"Well how can you know this if you have no evidence?" She asked sensibly, though it still struck a nerve in Harry.

"Because Draco left him, and that's when he got injured. The victim has injuries that mirror both Draco's and the killer's. He basically challenged me to catch him when I interrogated him."

"That alone isn't enough to convince a jury."

"I know, Hermione, that's why I came to you. You know the law side of things, I need advice." Harry was silent for a moment, staring at Hermione's desk and not at her face. "He's the reason Draco retreated again. He's threatening him, Hermione. I need to stop him. I think... I think that Draco thinks he deserves this."

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, reaching out to hold his hand. 

"What do I do?" 

"I can't tell you what to do, Harry. You'll figure it out. You always do."

"Thanks, Hermione. I should probably get back."

She gave him a hug before he left. 

On the way back to the Auror offices, Harry made up his mind. He was going to go to Robards; Draco's safety was more important than Harry's pride. He walked straight through the offices and to Robards' door, knocking only as an afterthought. 

"Come in, but make it quick," called the Head Auror through the door. 

Harry walked in and sat in front of the desk without being invited. Robards looked up and raised an eyebrow. 

"Sir," Harry greeted. 

"Potter," said Robards, looking annoyed. 

"The hanging, it was a threat to Auror Malfoy."

Robards' annoyance turned to skepticism.

"And what lead you to this conclusion?"

"The victim had identical injuries to Malfoy, and to someone he had a fight with. The victim was chosen to resemble Malfoy, their names have the same meanings."

"And you believe that Artemis Blackburn assaulted Malfoy, and killed and hung this young man as well?" Asked Robards, looking at Harry like he was a particularly annoying housefly. 

"Yes, sir, he did."

"Mr. Blackburn is an esteemed member of the wizarding community, and generously donates to this very department. You will excuse me if I find this whole theory a bit far-fetched."

"I need a warrant for veritaserum," Harry continued stubbornly. 

"That isn't going to happen," said Robards bluntly. 

Harry was frankly taken aback, and did actually lean back in his chair, affronted. 

"Even though I might trust your gut," said Robards very unexpectedly, "No one in this place will grant you that warrant."

"So you believe me?" Harry asked, not following the 180 degree turn this conversation had taken. 

"I think you may be getting somewhere, yes. How much longer do you have him in custody for?"

"Should be another hour before we have to release him."

"Well then, Potter, time to show off you interrogation skills," said Robards.

Harry wasn't sure that he would ever leave that man's office without feeling terribly confused, and like he must be being played in some way. "Thank you, sir." He said, then walked out with a newfound confidence. Robards was very good at his job, and Harry had no idea what it was that he did to be so successful. 

He was walking back to his office when their secretary ran up to him. 

"Harry--Auror Potter!" she called, "Your suspect's solicitor came by." Harry's heart flipped. "They released him ten minutes ago."

Harry ripped open the door to his and Draco's office in a second, but their secretary's worried voice was a step ahead of him. 

"He left with Auror Malfoy."

Harry did what anyone would do in this situation, of course, and proceeded to sprint back to Robards' office and then commandeer the rest of the office to work the case. He also did look like he'd gone slightly insane before he collected himself, but that's besides the point. 

*~*~*~*~*

He was done. He was past done. He wasn't sure if he was angry or broken, in shock or in a state of psychosis, or perhaps just completely empty. Whichever combination it was, he knew that he was so done with all of this. These thoughts were had before Draco regained consciousness, so when he did manage to pull coherent thoughts back through the fuzz, this small revelation was gone. His waking mind took control once more, and he was faced with Artemis sitting across from him, elbows on his knees and head resting on his hands. His hands looked tough, unlike Draco's own, which were calloused but could still be reasonably referred to as elegant or dainty. Those hands had been on Draco so many times, and looking at them caused a fair bit of inner turmoil.

Everything seemed to cause Draco inner turmoil these days. 

"Draco."

He had the nerve to say Draco's name after all he'd done. Rage boiled up in Draco's gut, so unexpectedly replacing the fear that had tied him in knots for the past few years. Merlin, it had been years.

Draco lifted his head up slowly, meeting Artemis' eyes with a level of conviction he hadn't had in as long as he'd known him. 

"Keep my name out of your mouth," Draco snarled. 

"Mind your manners, Draco," said Artemis, holding both his and Draco's wands in his hands. 

Draco made to lunge at him, but he was bound to a chair. He struggled nonetheless, not stopping even when the thick ropes dug into his skin. He was yelling, or he was growling, he was honestly not sure, he hadn't even noticed it was him making noise until he remembered he and Artemis were alone in this run down warehouse, and the other man was still. It appeared that his second mental break of the day had brought forth unadulterated rage for all Artemis had done to him. 

"You..." Draco spat once he found words again, "You tore apart my life. You destroyed everything. I intend to pay back that fucking favour!" Draco thrashed against his bonds again. 

Artemis laughed cruelly at Draco. "What life? You had nothing before I met you. I was the only good thing going for you! You don't know how to appreciate people caring for you! You're the horrible person here, not me, Draco."

"I said keep my fucking name out of your vile mouth," said Draco through his teeth. 

"I was really hoping it wouldn't go this way, Draco," said Artemis, looking disappointed. 

Draco opened his mouth to say, "What?" but before he could, Artemis had raised his wand. 

"Crucio," he said plainly. 

Draco saw red light, then his every nerve was on fire. A scream ripped from his throat, head thrown back, and with his muscles taught he thrashed against the ropes, in the very definition of agony. Tears squeezed their way out of his eyes. This was not how he was going to go. Artemis did not have power over him anymore. 

Draco dragged his head back down until he'd made eye contact with Artemis again. The rage in his stomach burned hotter than the pain of the Cruciatus curse, and just like that, the pain stopped, but Artemis hadn't lowered his wand. Draco's chest heaved as he panted. He turned his head and spat onto the floor, looking back up at Artemis after, eyes alight with the warning of danger.

"Is that the best you could come up with?" Draco asked, cocking his head to the side as he surveyed the man he used to share a bed with. 

Artemis' jaw clenched, and Draco relished in taking over his control of the situation. He wasn't anyone's puppet anymore, and he never would be again. 

"I was good to you, Draco-" said Artemis, preparing to give another one of his lectures of how Draco was the problem. 

"Spare me the bullshit," Draco interrupted, "Let's get this shit over with. If you're going to kill me, then get along with it. I don't think you can."

It was a bold challenge, and Draco's life depended on it, but he was calling Artemis' bluff.

Artemis stepped closer with his wand pointed directly at Draco's face, but Draco didn't flinch, and didn't look away from him once. He stared directly down the wand to make eye contact with him, trying to translate every emotion he had had in the past few years into one murderous glare. It appeared to be working, because Artemis' wand hand quivered ever so slightly, and Draco was still alive. 

"I knew you couldn't do it," said Draco, smiling. 

Artemis pulled his wand back, and instead punched Draco in the jaw to cover for his cowardice. 

Draco felt detached from the pain as he turned his head slowly back forward, laughing around the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. 

"All of this, and you're too fucking weak to finish it," said Draco, playing for time. With his left hand he grabbed hold of the rope around his right. He needed to focus.

Another hit, this time to his stomach. He coughed up blood into Artemis' face. He would have laughed if he hadn't been interrupted with a punch to the nose. He felt it break, and blood started to run down his face into his mouth again.

Focus. A spark in his hand. Not enough.

"You're so insolent, Draco," said Artemis, beginning to pace in front of him, "I gave you everything and you gave me nothing in return."

"You took everything from me!" Draco screamed.

Artemis was in his face again, and Draco could feel his breath.

"You're worthless, Draco, you couldn't keep my love, and no one else will ever love you again," Artemis ranted with a crazed look in his eye. The fire in Draco's gut rose again. Fire. It sprung to life in his hand, and in a few seconds, it had burned through the rope. 

"You're the one that's worthless, Artemis," Draco snarled, "You're going to rot in hell with the rest of the dead-inside scumbags, right where you belong."

The rope dropped to the floor, and before Artemis had time to register the sound and what it meant, Draco had thrown himself forward and tackled Artemis to the ground. Draco got two solid punches in, connecting with Artemis' face before the stronger man had grabbed his wrists and flipped him over. Draco was pinned down now, and with the weight of Artemis' knee pressed into his chest, he could barely move enough to struggle. If he was going to die, he thought, he was going to die fighting. 

A fist collided with his ribs. Draco raised his arms to protect his face, and two more blows landed there. Draco reached up to Artemis' face, clawing at his eyes and digging his nails into the places he'd just punched. Artemis yelled and tried to bat Draco's hands away, but Draco yelled, "Stupify!" and while his wandless charm was weak, it was enough to throw Artemis off of him. 

Draco didn't even know where their wands had gotten to in the scuffle, but instinct had taken over, and when he shouted "Accio!" he was not disappointed. His wand flew into his hand and immediately warmed in his fingertips, ready for battle.

Artemis was getting to his feet as well, his own wand in hand. They stared at each other for a moment. Draco was definitely more bloodied and broken than Artemis was, but the long red slashes from Draco's nails were raked down Artemis' face, and Draco knew that even though he was physically weaker, he still had ground in this. 

"You despicable-" Artemis started, moving toward Draco, but Draco interrupted him with a lightning-fast curse before he could do anything. 

Artemis deflected it in the nick of time, and then they were duelling. Draco started going through every curse in his arsenal, not making a single sound, only smoothly deflecting and throwing spell after spell. He was quick and light on his feet, even with the stabbing pain of a likely broken rib in his side. A bolt of silver light from his wand slashed a gash across Artemis' chest. A second later, a jet of green light whizzed a centimetre past Draco's ear, singing the ends of his hair. 

Draco froze, staring at Artemis. There was no more fake kindness in that man's eyes. There was only bloodlust. It struck Draco in this moment that that was what he had truly been this whole time. Draco's heart beat pounded in his ears, and taking advantage of their brief pause in duelling, Draco threw himself back into it with all the remaining energy he could muster. They fought like animals, their only thoughts being either survival or murder. 

They kept weakening each other with more and more curses finding their targets, but neither of them showed signs of stopping. Finally, two of their curses clashed head on, and they were locked in a battle of power now. Draco was on the brink of delirium, but his wand hand held steady. One of them was going to lose here. The stronger curse would win out, and if it wasn't Draco's, he would be dead in a few seconds. Draco might have been screaming, or he might not have been if his voice had given out. His energy was almost tapped out, but he remembered Harry, he remembered what he had to live for, and he gave it his last possible effort. He was not going to give up now. There was a final flash of blinding light, and the sound of glass shattering, then Draco went limp.

*~*~*~*~*

He and ten Aurors apparated into the empty lot of an abandoned factory. The panes of all the windows had been blown out, glass dust littering the ground around them. Wind whistled through, and Harry had the most horrible feeling. 

"Fan out, and be on guard," Harry instructed. 

Just as the Aurors started to move out to search the area, a squeaky grinding sound of metal rang out from the main building. The door was inching open, and Harry silently signalled 'wands up.' They advanced on the building, ready for the worst. 

The door was pulled open further, and out limped none other than Draco Malfoy, covered in blood and dirt. Harry choked out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. 

Draco smiled. "What took you so bloody long?" He asked, voice hoarse. 

Relief flooded Harry's body until Draco's smile dropped, and so did he. 

Harry managed to yell out "Arresto Momentum!" before Draco hit the ground, and then he was running to his side. 

"Oh, Draco," he whispered, trying to find the injury that was the source of all the blood. "Draco, wake up."

"I'm awake," Draco whispered, his voice absolutely wrecked, "But I'd rather not be. If you could stop talking, that would be wonderful."

"Check the warehouse!" Harry yelled when he knew Draco was still alive. 

"Hey," murmured Draco, "What did I say about the volume?"

"Sorry," said Harry shakily, "But you have to stay awake until we get you to St. Mungo's."

"You know," said Draco, voice so quiet now that Harry had to lean down to hear him, "I used to want to be a Healer."

"Why didn't you?" Harry asked.

"I don't really know. I think... I think I wanted to be an Auror to learn to how to fight."

"Draco, you knew how to duel," said Harry. 

"Then-" said Draco, "Then I suppose I wanted to know how to defend myself. Or maybe to defend others. I never did that before. I was always the one who put them in harm's way."

"Draco," began Harry, not knowing what to say to comfort him. 

"I guess I'm not really very good at my job, am I? I couldn't defend myself, and because of that, other people died."

Harry wanted to say something, but he was interrupted by Fletchley coming out of the warehouse to report to him. 

"Your suspect is in there, knocked out cold with all kinds of gnarly injuries, magically bound better than I've ever seen, " he said, looking down at Draco with a mixture of fear, disbelief, and grudging awe. 

"Thanks, Fletchley, have him brought to St. Mungo's. I'm taking Draco now," said Harry, scooping Draco up in his arms. 

"Ouch," Draco winced, clutching his ribs with a bloody hand. 

"Sorry," Harry murmured, "I'm taking you to the hospital, you'll be alright soon."

"Alright," Draco echoed, eyes closed. 

Harry said a silent prayer, though he wasn't sure who to, as he was an atheist, then disapparated to the Auror's entrance of St. Mungo's.

When they appeared, the on-call resident ran over with a gurney, and Harry placed Draco on it as gently as he could. Draco's groaning went straight to Harry's fluttering nervous heart. 

"What happened?" The Healer asked, already taking Draco's vitals. 

"Kidnapped," Harry explained, "They fought, other guy is coming in after, in even worse shape."

"Is this the guy who hung that man in the Square?" The Healer asked, unable to keep his curiosity to himself. 

Harry nodded. 

"It's my job to save people," he said, meeting Harry's eyes, "But I'm glad he got what was coming to him."

Harry nodded again, and the Healer whisked Draco off to treatment with reassurances and directions to the waiting room, which Harry had memorized by now. He sat in the uncomfortable chairs, staring at Draco's blood that had gotten on his own hands. A medi-witch came by a half hour later with a cup of tea and a gentle pat on the shoulder. Harry thanked her, and continued to stare blankly at the wall of the waiting room. As the time passed, more people started to show up to wait with Harry. Several Aurors joined them, and even Fletchley walked in an hour after Harry had arrived, sitting across from him. 

"We brought the attacker in, he's in surgery now," he told Harry. "I'm going to stay," he said a few seconds later, looking very awkward. 

Harry supposed this was his way of trying to make up for how he'd treated Draco in the past, so Harry thanked him. A female Auror from Draco's year came by and brought them all more tea, sitting beside Harry until he drank it. He finally did, and the warmth of it did help ease his worry somewhat. She seemed satisfied and went to sit with her friend. It seemed no one wanted to sit directly next to Harry, because they all knew his grief was different, and it wasn't their place to intrude on what he and Draco had between each other. Harry didn't know what it was, but he had a feeling everyone else was very sure about what they thought it was. 

After three hours, Harry looked up when he heard a set of clicking footsteps enter the waiting room. His eyes travelled past black heels and pristine robes, up to meet the daggers shooting out of Pansy Parkinson's eyes. Blaise Zabini walked in after her a moment later. She walked briskly over to Harry, stopping directly in front of him with an accusatory glare. 

"Potter," She said forcefully, "They told me Draco's in a bad way. What happened?"

"Got kidnapped," said Harry flatly, "The body in Trafalgar Square was a threat, someone wanted to kill Draco. He fought his way out, left the other guy worse off."

"It was Artemis," she stated venomously, though by a pleasant surprise, the malice was not directed at Harry. 

"I did everything I could," Harry said, staring at his knees, "But he just shut me out."

"Of course he did," said Pansy, placing her handbag on a table, "That's what that man did to him." She took the seat next to Harry, crossing her legs and sitting with her back straight. She did not intend to go anywhere for a while. Zabini took the seat on his other side. 

"Last time Draco wrote, he said you were not so bad," said Zabini, looking like he was trying not to let the words pain him.

"High praise from him," Harry replied. 

Zabini nodded, and Pansy answered, voice softer than Harry had heard it before. "That it is."

Harry wasn't sure if they were being nice to him because he had Draco's stamp of approval, or because he was an absolute wreck and they were reluctant to kick a man while he was down. Knowing the Slytherin way, it could easily have been both. Whatever their motivations were, they all waited there together in silence. Harry looked around the room and saw all the people who had stayed, and wondered if Draco knew how many people actually did care about his well being. He probably did not, so Harry resolved to remind him of this fact more often. 

The silence skittered on, punctuated only by the occasional cleared throat or shifting in the uncomfortable reception chairs. Harry's jittering grew wilder with the passage of time: bouncing his leg more and more erratically until Pansy broke him from his trance by placing a hand on his knee to force him to be still. Her glare was stern but not cruel, and Harry thanked her with a nod, instead channeling his restless energy into twirling his wand between his fingers. (This proved to be more dangerous twenty minutes later when, unbeknownst to Harry, sparks had started to fall out of the tip, singing the chair next to him. Pansy repaired the chair with a lazy flick of her wand, and once again pulled Harry's arm down. He was too preoccupied with imagining all the worst scenarios of Draco's fate to be properly apologetic.)

The spiralling occurring in Harry's mind was currently going through a cycle of various paranoias and horrors, namely images flashing across his closed eyelids of Draco convulsing on an operating table, blood trickling from his mouth, then his nose, his ears, and slowly dripping from his eyes, dragging tracks down his dirt stained cheeks. This was not helping ease his panic, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself it was not happening, that Draco was in the hands of the best Healers in the country. Harry threw his head back to lean against the wall - which was uncomfortably too far away, so as to leave him hanging - and pinched the bridge of his nose. He stayed in that position for he didn't know how long, and didn't care to notice the stiffness growing in his neck. 

A gentle and practiced voice cut through Harry's despairing thoughts.

"Which of you are here for Draco Malfoy?"

Pansy rose gracefully from her seat, (though she had an iron-like grasp on her handbag), and Harry rose several fractions of a second after her, dread flowing through his veins, trying to ignore the faint shaking in his knees. They approached the Healer in her pristine green robes, Blaise following a pace behind, completely silent. 

The Healer addressed Pansy, as her mere presence commanded attention, and she seemed to be the most stable of the three of them. 

"Auror Malfoy sustained a great deal of injuries, due to physical damage as well as curse damage-" Harry felt as though he were shaking like a leaf at this point, "-Which were all curable, the majority of which has been done in the operating theatre. What he needs now is a great deal of rest and recovery."

All three of them let out deep breaths, and the dread lifted from Harry's gut, though the shaking did not cease. 

"He is asleep, but you are welcome to see him," the Healer finished, giving Harry a firm nod, having noticed his apparent distress and then relief. 

Pansy glanced over at Blaise, having made up both of their minds. "We'll visit Draco tomorrow. He needs rest, and will be too delirious to enjoy our company," she said, with a nod of approval from Blaise. Harry realized that there was unexpected sentiment carried behind her apparently joking and selfish words. That was the way she worked. She turned then to Harry, having decided that now the crisis had passed, she could address him directly without the possible consequence of him falling apart. 

"Give Draco our regards," she said, gazing into Harry's eyes calculatingly for a longer than necessary period of time, leading Harry to believe that her next words would carry a lot more weight, "And take care of him." She finished pointedly, and Harry rather felt like he'd been given the shovel talk. He was quite confused by this, but before he had time to reply - Pansy was a woman who always got her last word in - she was walking away, heels clicking on the clinically tiled floor. 

"Tell Malfoy he's not allowed to nearly die on us again," Blaise called over his shoulder severely, though again with the undertone of concern that Pansy shared. Harry was beginning to understand the tendencies of Slytherins. He gave a solemn nod to Blaise, and just as with Pansy, there was an unspoken agreement between them. 

"Auror Malfoy has an odd variety of people caring for him," said the Healer, watching the pair leave. 

"That he does," said Harry. If he was correct, he had just been given the approval to be one of Draco's people. "You said I could see him? Don't visiting hours end soon?"

"That they do," she said, leading Harry out of the godforsaken waiting room, "But we can bend the rules in this case."

"Thank you," said Harry gratefully.

"Of course," she said. "This way to the elevator."

"I know this place like the back of my hand by now," said Harry darkly. 

The Healer swallowed whatever words she thought she should say next, probably because there was no good reply to that. She was an intelligent woman, Harry observed, having done this job long enough to know when people don't want consolation. It was frankly a relief. Harry was done with having to convince well-meaning strangers that he was fine. Every step closer they got to the ward Draco was in, Harry's heart jumped higher in his throat. 

"Here," the Healer said - Harry realized he had never learned her name, but he was too preoccupied to ask now - and opened a door to Harry's right, Severe Curse Damage Recovery, and held it open for him. 

Harry clenched and unclenched his fists, then walked into the silent room. 

One sole bed was occupied, and Harry made a beeline for it, all thought gone from his head until he had sunk down in a chair beside it. 

The Healer walked over as well, checking vitals and scratching notes into a chart, but Harry paid no notice. 

Draco looked so small, and so frail, lying there, tied down by the magically-induced sleep. He looked so gentle: his slow breaths so quiet, his skin paler than parchment, his hair nearly blending into the colour of his pillow. There were two gashes across his face, one through his eyebrow, and one slashed across his cheek. His hands folded neatly atop his blanket had bruised knuckles, some blood still crusted under his nails. They'd cleaned off the dirt and blood from his face, neck, and hair, so that when combined with the cream colour of his blankets, his injuries stood out, gruesome and imposing against his elegant face, and the vulnerable innocence he carried in sleep. He looked so young - the weight of all the hurt he buried inside make him look older for all the time Harry'd thought he'd been getting to know him. 

He was torn away from staring at Draco's face by the click of metal on metal as Draco's Healer set down his chart. "When he wakes up, we'll send someone in to check up," she said. 

"And when do you think that will be? How long until he wakes up?" Harry asked.

"It's hard to tell, everyone reacts to the potions differently. His body has been through a lot, he needs time to heal and rest."

"But what does that mean?" said Harry, very worried, and needing some form of concrete answer to cling to.

"It means you have to be patient. He's strong, and his injuries will heal quickly. I will be back sooner than you will want to see me, Mr. Potter," she smiled. 

Harry laughed feebly. "Thank you."

She gave Harry a final nod, and left the ward, closing the door quietly behind her. Tentatively, Harry looked back down at Draco, supposedly sleeping softly in front of him. He had let his hair grow out a bit, so it hung down over his forehead, just brushing past his eyebrows. Harry reached out to stroke it back, but as he did, it just fell down again. 

Harry laughed, "How much product must you have had to use?" he muttered. Draco's hair was soft, and Harry's hand fell limply on the pillow next to Draco's head. Though Harry could see Draco lying in front of him, in flesh and blood, it still felt like he wasn't really there. The worry stirred in Harry's stomach, reminding him of its presence. 

"He'll wake up soon," Harry repeated. He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable, even though he knew the reality of these chairs all too well. 

Harry stayed awake for as long as he could, but soon his eyelids drooped, and he rested his head on his hand, the other lying limply next to Draco's. He nodded off, the frantic worry of the day taking its toll. Darkness overtook his mind, and not a thought nor dream crossed it. 

A small groan roused Harry from his stupor/nap. 

Draco's eyes blinked open, trying to focus on his surroundings. 

Harry was immediately sitting up straight, examining Draco's expression. "Draco? Are you alright?"

This was answered with another groan, Draco's eyes flickering to Harry's face, then back to the ceiling. He made a move to sit up, hissing with pain as soon as he tried to move, falling back to the pillows almost immediately. 

"Draco?" Harry asked again, leaning closer to the bed. 

Draco winced again, lifting up his arm to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'm done with this," He grumbled, almost inaudibly, "Take me from this plane of existence and move me on to the next."

Before Harry could figure out what the hell to say to that, Draco had fallen back to sleep. 

Harry stayed awake for two more hours, staring at Draco fast asleep, as if nothing had happened. He remembered the stories Ron and Hermione had told him about the strange proclamations he had made when he himself was coming off the anastesia potions, and clung to them for comfort. 

*~*~*~*~*

"Nnggghhh... Potter... You're lying on my fuckin' blanket."

Following a brief second of confusion, Harry sprang up, creases on the side of his face from the sheets and an awful crick in his neck. 

"You're awake," said Harry, nearly giddy. 

"Excellent observation," grumbled Draco, blinking the magically induced sleep out of his eyes. He tried to sit up, grimacing and clutching his ribs as he did. 

"Whoa there," said Harry, putting a hand on Draco's shoulder to stop him, "Don't be hasty."

Draco shot him a glare through narrowed eyes, so Harry immediately submitted to his will and snagged an extra pillow, helping him to slowly sit up. 

"I'm in the hospital," Draco stated, voice scratchy, staring at the cream coloured wall opposite his bed. 

"Yeah," said Harry, "Brought you in yesterday, you were badly injured."

"I know," said Draco, his usual snappy tone lacking any sort of energy. He coughed, then looked around the hospital room. "Got any water?" He asked. 

Harry nodded, hurrying to grab the pitcher by Draco's bedside. Draco drank slowly, very slowly, still staring intently at the wall and not at Harry. 

"Is-" Draco started, pausing before he could continue, "Is he-" He trailed off there, not able to finish the question. 

"Last I heard, he was in the operating room beaten within an inch of his life," said Harry.

"Did he-" said Draco, once again unable to finish. 

"I don't know for sure," Harry said, "But I don't think so."

Draco's expression was completely unreadable, but it was definitely nothing good. 

"I'm going to go grab the medi-witch," said Harry after a long silence, "She'll want to know you're awake."

Draco nodded, and Harry promptly left the room. For a moment, once the door closed behind him, he leaned back against a wall, and allowed himself to collect his thoughts. He wasn't even sure what those thoughts were, but he knew they needed to have a moment to settle. He flagged down the first medi-witch he saw, asking them to send someone in to Draco, then he went to find out what had happened to Artemis. A twisted part of him wished that he'd find him in the morgue, but the more rational side wondered how Draco would be able to handle that. 

He wandered the halls aimlessly for a while, trying to catch a glimpse of a red robe amongst all the green - surely someone had been assigned to wait for Artemis to wake up, (if he was capable of it). Eventually he walked into reception, making his way to ask at the front desk where he should go. 

"Potter!" Someone called. Harry recognized it to be the voice of Fletchley. He turned, and sure enough, there he was, striding purposefully over to him. "Malfoy awake?" He asked.

Harry nodded. 

"That's good," said Justin, slightly awkwardly, obviously wanting to move on to business, "Are you trying to find out what happened to Blackburn?"

"Yeah," said Harry, not sure which outcome he was hoping for - neither was good. 

"He made it through surgery, he's not awake yet, but he's magically bound for when he does."

"So the Healers say he's going to wake up?"

"Yeah, do you want me to handle the arrest?" Justin offered, sensing Harry's scattered disposition. 

"That would be great, thanks," said Harry, already walking off. 

Fletchley gave him one final nod, but Harry didn't really care to notice. 

Upon returning to Draco's room, the medi-witch was finishing applying a very strong ointment to his arm. Draco noticed Harry's arrival before his eyes immediately flicked back to the space over the medi-witch's left shoulder. He lowered his arm, angling the blistered handprint away from Harry's gaze. It was useless, because the next moment the witch had held it up again to start winding gauze around it. 

"What curse caused this?" she asked, "We may be able to treat it more efficiently."

Draco shook his head slightly, "Dunno," (He was using short forms, not a good sign), "It was accidental magic."

The medi-witch held back her surprise well through a carefully practiced professionalism, but if there was anyone capable of seeing through it, it was Draco Malfoy. His eyes flicked down to where the edge of the burn was rapidly disappearing through meticulously spiralled gauze, and didn't look away even when it was finished. 

The medi-witch coughed, sensing the tense atmosphere, and said that Draco could leave after a few more hours of observation and a final check in from the attending Healer before they'd sign off on his discharge forms. 

"That's good," said Harry, sitting on the foot of Draco's bed, "You'll be out of here soon."

"I hate hospitals," said Draco simply, turning to lean his back against the wall, clutching his ribs as he moved. Harry followed his lead, sitting against the wall as well, leaving plenty of space between them, unsure of what mood Draco was in. 

"Did they tell you what injuries you have? They were rather vague with me earlier," Harry asked, trying to keep Draco talking. 

He recited his injuries in a monotone. "Bruised and cracked ribs-" that much Harry had guessed - "A slight bit of internal bleeding, minor concussion, third degree curse burn, broken nose, quite a few curse slashes, something about a fractured orbital socket-"

"Fractured orbital socket?" Harry asked, blanching at the list of injuries his partner had suffered. 

Draco mimed a punch to the eye, letting his fist fall down limply after. Harry felt sick. 

"It's fine," said Draco, "They fixed most of it, just got to wait to finish healing."

Harry nodded, looking at Draco who was not looking at him. There was still a ghost of a bruise unsuccessfully hiding behind Draco's pale complexion, mingling with the dark circles under his eyes. 

"Did you find out what happened to him?" Draco asked quietly, staring at his hands worrying with the edge of his sleeve. 

"He lived," said Harry, trying to disguise the edge of bitterness to his words, "He was on the brink."

Draco nodded, the column of his throat moving up and down. "Thought-" He said, pausing for several seconds, twisting his shirt sleeve, "Thought he was going to kill me."

Harry remained silent, now staring at Draco's hands too. 

"I mean, I was kidnapped and tied up, that's not a first, but-" Draco squeezed the bunched up shirt in his palm, taking enough fabric for an inch of his shoulder to become visible, "I wasn't sure... I wasn't sure I would make it through that one. I... when we were fighting... I really didn't think..." Harry grabbed Draco's hand and threaded his fingers through his. Draco clung on tightly, his hand feeling so thin in Harry's. 

"You beat him," said Harry, voice low. "It was all you."

Draco nodded. "Took long enough."

"It's not your fault," said Harry. 

"Okay," said Draco, though he didn't believe it, though Harry was not at all convinced. 

They stared together at the plain hospital wall, and Draco slowly leaned over to rest his head on Harry's shoulder. That is where they stayed for four hours until the Healer came in to discharge Draco. They gave Draco vials of various potions, all with detailed labels about doses, then the Healer turned to Harry. 

"Will you be taking charge of his care? He will need help for the next day or two."

"Yes," Harry said, before he had the chance to think or Draco the chance to object. 

The Healer signed a paper, and with a swish of his robes, was out the door. 

"We can't go to my apartment," said Draco decisively, nervously. 

"You can stay at mine," Harry offered immediately. 

Draco nodded, "We need to make a stop first," He said, groaning as he tried to stand up,   not even looking miffed that Harry was holding his arm to support him.

"Where do we need to stop?" Harry asked, grabbing Draco's Auror robe, (badly mended, though Draco either didn't notice or didn't care). 

Draco tried to limp toward the door, noticing a cane left by the Healer and eyeing it with vague and faraway disdain. Disdain was a good sign, at least, Harry supposed. 

Draco picked up the cane and slowly made his way to the door, still looking like his mind was not fully in this realm of reality, "Big Ben," He said, not providing any further explanation. 

After a brief moment to stand and wonder what the fuck, Harry rushed forward to grab the door for the smoothly limping Draco. "Why are we going to the biggest tourist attraction in London?" He asked reasonably. 

"To grab my trunk," said Draco, as if this was as much context as anyone could need. 

Harry, knowing that Draco was in no state to answer  - not that he normally would elaborate much anyway - decided not to question it further, and instead to humour him, because he would not be surprised if Draco had hidden his belongings in a national monument. They made their way to the apparition point: Draco still not entirely focusing on anything, and Harry intensely observing and worrying about him. He was likely in shock, came the voice that resembled something Hermione would say, or perhaps once told him. He remembered the days following the end of the war, and his fears were simultaneously eased, while also increasing his heart rate at an alarming pace. 

Draco grabbed his arm, "You apparate, I'll direct us."

Harry was dubious about Draco's current navigational capabilities, but as they seemed to have no other option, he closed his eyes and turned them on the spot, hoping for the best. 

Blind faith did not fail him that day. Sure enough, there they stood, behind the gigantic clock face, staring at the huge grinding gears. Draco slipped his wand out of his sleeve, and lifted a concealment charm to reveal a grand looking trunk sitting unassumingly in a corner. He limped forward a few steps, then levitated it over beside Harry. He limped back, but stopped for a moment to stare at the cane in his hand, as if he had forgotten ever taking it. 

"I look like my father," he said, before taking up Harry's arm again. 

Harry was unsure what to reply to this comment, so he simply grabbed the handle of Draco's trunk, and apparated them to his apartment, having not the slightest clue what he was going to do next. 

*~*~*~*~*

Draco leaned on the wall as Harry unlocked the door, and needed Harry to help bear most of his weight as they crossed the threshold, their short trip to the clock tower having drained him of what little energy he'd regained.

"'M gonna take a shower," Draco mumbled. 

"No, you are not," said Harry, going into full protective mode, "I'm running you a bath."

Draco only nodded. 

Harry threw his cloak over a chair as he made his way to the bathroom, and Draco did not pick it up to move it to the proper place. He sat on the closest chair, and didn't even remove his own outer robes. Harry turned on the tap in the tub, making sure it was a good temperature, before heading back to the living room to see Draco in the exact same place. He had at least taken off his shoes. This seemed to be Draco on slightly dysfunctional autopilot. Not good. 

"Draco, you have to take off the robes."

Draco nodded again, taking off his stained and badly stitched Auror robes so he was just in his trousers and undershirt before following Harry to the bathroom. Harry threw a shit ton of bubbles and a soothing smelling bath bomb he'd received as a Christmas present into the tub, and graciously turned his back so Draco could get in. 

"Bubbles covering your junk?" Harry asked a moment later, silently cursing himself for not being able to be properly sensitive. 

"Yep, not gonna blind you," Draco responded. 

Snarky answer, that's good.

Harry turned, and Draco was lying low beneath the bubbles, bandaged arm resting on the side of the tub, goosebumps all the way along it. 

"Do you think you can tell me why Artemis wanted to kill you?" Harry asked gently. 

Draco dragged his long fingers through the tops of the bubbles, thinking through how to phrase the explanation. 

"He was charming," Draco started, "No one tried to be charming to me, in the beginning, but he didn't seem to care what my last name was, or what I had done. I thought he saw me for who I was." Now that Draco had started, the story seemed to have possessed him, spilling out all at once at last. "I loved him. I feel ashamed now, to admit it, but back then, I fell in love with him. But then he changed, I don't know if it was a change really, or just a reveal, but it was slow, and he seemed to still be the charming man who took me in and loved me in a time where I was so lost. Went on for about two years, and I think I knew something wasn't right, he was too cruel, so I left him. It wasn't a usual breakup, I just left. I thought that would be it.

"It wasn't the end, of course, because he stayed with me through that time we were apart. The things he said, the things he made me believe about myself, they stayed. And I missed him. I actually missed him. Then we became partners, and we started to become friends, and I started to move on. But then he came back. He came back and I let him slip right back in to where we left off.

"But then, slowly again I reached my limit. I realized that it was wrong, I knew in my gut that I had to leave or something terrible would happen. I was slipping away and I had to get out before he could destroy the rest of me. So I left him that night, the night I got that burn, he grabbed my arm and I reacted, the magic just poured out. He couldn't release his grip on me though, so he tried to kill me. He couldn't lose his power over me, after I let him have it for so long."

Then Draco stopped speaking, and Harry realized that was the most he'd ever heard him say all at once. 

"He was toxic," said Harry, "He was toxic and it was not your fault. You stood up to him, you took back your life, and he will never, ever hurt you again."

Draco nodded, and with a choked voice, said, "It wasn't my fault. None of it." He sounded like he was starting to believe it. A moment later, he mumbled, with an exhausted attempt at humour, "I smell like hospital."

Harry smiled softly, "Let me help you with that."

He rolled back his sleeves and grabbed some shampoo, something fruity and familiar. He rinsed out some of the blood and dirt that still remained at his roots, then started working in some shampoo. They were both silent through this, the only sound being the swishing water. 

"Harry?" Draco asked eventually. 

"Mhm?"

"Can you tell me a story?" 

This was a strange request, but Harry took it in stride. "What about?"

"Something about you. That I don't know."

"Okay," said Harry, starting to rinse out the shampoo, "When I was ten, I was living with my Aunt and Uncle. Back then, I had no idea that magic existed, and I got dragged along on my cousin's birthday. I figured a trip to the zoo was better than the cupboard, so it was actually not a bad time. We went to the snake exhibit, and I was leaning against a railing, staring at a boa constrictor, just talking to myself, when the snake replied to me. We had a nice chat about how it had never seen Brasil, and then Dudley, my cousin, came up and started banging on the glass," Harry retold the story in soft tones, starting on working some conditioner into Draco's hair. 

"I told him to leave the snake alone, but he wouldn't. The details get a bit fuzzy here, it was so long ago, but the next thing that happened was that the glass was suddenly gone, and Dudley had fallen into the enclosure." Draco was hanging on to Harry's every word, even though it was not a very interesting story, at least in the way that Harry told it. He supposed that Draco needed something to concentrate on, and he hoped that it was working. "The snake slithered out thanks to the now non-existent glass, and everyone started screaming. Dudley was sopping wet, and he tried to climb back out, but the glass had reappeared! There was no good explanation for how that had happened, but for some reason I still didn't think 'wizard'."

Harry'd finished his story, and washing Draco's hair, and somehow his hand had ended up resting on the edge of the tub, dangling in the water and clutching Draco's. 

"Thanks," said Draco, turning his head to meet Harry's gaze. The story had worked, because when Harry looked into those grey eyes, Draco was there, fully there, even if he was fogged by his exhaustion. "Can I stay?" He asked. 

Harry thought back to the words of a man he used to think was brave. His opinion of the man had changed now, but there was one thing he said that still rang true.

"Always," said Harry.

There was nothing in this moment that Harry wanted more than to kiss Draco, but he knew now was not the time. Draco had had a very trying day, so Harry was not going to throw that into more chaos by trying to start something. 

However, when it was Draco who leaned in, Harry was not going to stop him. Their lips met briefly, teasingly, and the gesture carried the weight of all that had happened between them, and a fluttering hope for better days to come. 

They sat there for a while longer, holding hands and playing with bubbles, not needing to say anything at all to communicate what they needed between them. It was all out in the open, and it was known. They didn't need words to solidify what they felt and already knew. 

*~*~*~*~*

“Draco?”

“Mmm?”

“Let’s take a sabbatical.”

A long sigh. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in years.”

*~*~*~*~*

 


End file.
